When Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang
by whatcatydidnext
Summary: Seven years I have been wife to Hew, in seven years I have born but one son, the poor little rabbit. I have never quickened more. Another crime. Now I collect nettles for soup, our only food for a sennight gone. I am Hadwise Rachael's-dotter, wife of Hew the smith atte-Brooke. These are all my sins.
1. Chapter 1

_While Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 1_

 _The high summer sun comes dappled through trailing willow boughs. Lush green bracken, pink loose-strife, yellow bladder-wort, all the joyous colour giving lie to wretchedness of my life, at least for this moment._

 _I am Hadwise Rachael's-dotter, wife to Hew the smith._  
 _I sit with my feet in a flow of clear water, close my eyes, breathe in, hold the air in my lungs. The light headed feeling I get from the childish trick thrusts the real world away for a few precious moments._  
 _I loose the breath, throw back my head, open my eyes._  
 _How I long to be a child again, to run unconcerned to my father's knee and be petted._  
 _Oh, to be that child still..._

 _The air is cool under the long overhanging branches. I am closed in, shaded from the world. Even the sounds of the birds are softened. The babble and splash of the stream has tempted me. 'Tis good to sit for a while, I could stay here forever in peace. No more listening to the self-pitying complaints of my husband. No more waiting for the sound of iron hooves on the dry dirt road. No more hearing my child whimper as life fades from him._  
 _A sigh escapes me as I close my eyes again. If only I could make for freedom as easy as my breath._

 _I'm not sure how far we have walked. Each day it gets a little further, less safe. Hew grumbles about the time it takes. But if left to him there would be no nettles for the potage, nor twigs for the fire to cook it on. My small vegetable patch is poor, forests fruits sparse, our bellies yawn wide and empty. I am not sure which soldiers stole the last harvest, those of the Empress or the King. Not that it matters much, 'tis still gone._

 _My mouth hurts; I can taste the metal of my blood. If I suck hard...it_  
 _still bleeds. Oh, well..._

 _Last winter the brook iced over, the milk cow died of cold in her stall, our pig in her pen. Old Jacko fell drunk and froze where he lay at the door of his cot. Never been the like, all acknowledged it so. The priest said it was Gods judgment on the people for not supporting Good King Stephen. But these are villains, cottars, poor folk like us who only just endure in the good times. We live season to season, what do we know, or care, of kings? All we do know is life is hard, and soldiers make it harder. They steal, destroy, rape. It matters not one whit who they fight for._

 _God bless our lords who play at politic and rob us blind, steal even the men from the fields, just to fight their endless, pointless wars._  
 _The village is almost empty now. Those that were able took to the road, only the old and sick have stayed. Oh, and us, we stayed, but no one needs a blacksmith here anymore. Without work and three mouths to fill, as well as his own, Hew's moods are black, he takes this fortune hard, and blames me._

 _If I wriggle my tongue I can move a tooth, he has loosened it._

 _There was a time when I never spoke, never sang, he bade me keep silent. My voice bothers him; I am a disappointment I suppose. My sickening babe has seen only two summers, his poor undernourished body falls to every ailment. Tom, my stepson, is a sturdier child, a good boy of eight years; he follows me as if I were indeed his real mother. I love him, but despair what life he and his half brother may have._  
 _Hew finds even the wasting of our child reason to berate me. The fault lay with me. Had he had not taken me to wife, he and Tom could have...well he never said what he could have done. Likely he does not know. But Hew is a simple man, not given much to thinking...so he hits me instead. He struck me about the face this morning, he was in an ill humour. I had defied him and sang softly as I nursed._

 _Aye, it was foolish of me, but I am a woman grown, I cannot always be silent, to sing is all I have left of the girl I was. So I did not stay to listen to the list of sins I had committed, I know them by heart. My wilfulness since the birth of our son, my wanton behaviour and whorish practices..._  
 _Huh! I came to him a shy girl of twelve summers, reared in a convent. 'Till my father's death I was meant for a nun. But my stepmother refused to pay my dower to the church. She found me a fitting husband instead. Hew, the smith. Where was I to learn whorish practices but from him?_  
 _All had thought it a good match. Hew was the honest, God fearing widowed blacksmith, with a son of one year, a goodly catch for an orphaned bastard girl._

 _It was not!_

 _Seven years I have been wife to Hew, in seven years I have born but one son, my poor little rabbit. I have never quickened more. No more babes filled me. Another crime to lie at the door of my lewdness. To be fair he did not touch me till my fourteenth birthday, but then he fell upon me as a man starved. Most of what he showed me to do was against the teachings of the church...a woman should not take the position of a man in the act of union. A woman must not be taken on a holy day, not in the light of day, not like the beasts in the field...The list is endless, and he is persistent in them all. And I, who knew so little, profited not at all from the sinful acts. Once...I think I felt...a something, but then it was gone. Gone with a grunt, a groan, and a careless touch._

 _Now I collect nettles for soup, our only food for a sennight gone._

 _I am Hadwise Rachael's-dotter, wife of Hew the smith atte-Brooke._  
 _These are all my sins._


	2. Part 2

While Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 2

"Haddie! Haddie, soldiers!"

 _The crashing ferns and Tom's frightened voice startle me out of my morbid notions. He almost falls into my lap, his small face streaked with tears and snot. My wits are dulled by the weariness of hunger. Blinking, I rub my eyes hoping to clear my thoughts as well as sight._

 _Distant sounds of men and horses have me on guard. Shouts, coarse laughter, guttural barks, mounts snorting in impatience, the clank of harnesses._

 _I grab Tom's hand tightly scrambling to my feet, pull him close, a finger to my lips. "Stay by me, say nothing, be as a mouse." Lest my skirt catch the bushes giving us away, I haul up it up, tie it at my waist._

 _Soldiers are always to be feared, and these are soldiers._

 _Creeping forward slowly we reach the trees that screen the broad cart track before the open smithy. We can see only the backsides of the horses, can hear no words, merely gruff voices. Again, I caution Tom to silence, finger to my lips. He is a good boy. We are accomplices against his father's rages, he knows well when to be quiet._

 _We dart between the trees, bracken hiding us till we are close enough to see four men, all soundly armed._

 _Then screams, a man's screams._

" _Sweet Mother...please, no." I hear my own terrified whisper._

 _We are close by home now, the howls of pain and fear cut me._

' _Tis Hew. The soldiers are making sport with him, as they would do with Tom and me if they found us._

 _I beg the Holy Mother and all her saints to let the babe sleep on, in my heart I know the noise should have set him crying._

 _But he is silent._

 _From behind the shield of broad oaks and undergrowth, I steal a look. Four…no, five horses, all goodly beasts, strong, sleek, better fed than we._

 _The men wear colours I do not know. They were not men of our liege lord, nor are they the Kings men. The blue and gold of their arms means nothing to me._

 _Soldiery of the Empress then, of her hire?_

 _I cannot see Hew, but he screams no more. The soldiers are joking, slapping each other on the back. A tall, thin faced man steps from the forge, he dusts off his hands. Clothes of good quality, red hair, high at the pate and longer than the Norman manner. He wears his sword belt across his chest, from shoulder to hip, in an odd fashion._

 _He calls orders and the men follow him to their mounts._

 _Their captain then?_

 _Reaching for the bridle of the finest mount, he pauses. A bundle of rags lies at his feet; he nudges it with his boot, sniffs, then kicks it aside._

 _My child's small legs fall free…lifeless._

 _I feel my belly ripped open, my hearts sinews mangle. I lurched forward, but Tom throws his small body at my middle, knocking me back behind the tree, his small hand at my mouth._

"They'll kill us!"

 _I freeze at the desperate certainty in his voice._

 _The captain turns our way, screwing his eyes as if he had heard…but sees_

 _nothing, turns back and mounts up. "Burn it!" he shouts._

 _One of the men lights the thatch roof from the smouldering forge pit._

 _Our cottage, our home…is afire._

 _In a moment it is over. They are gone and but for the crackle of burning thatch, there is silence._


	3. Part 3

_When Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 3_

 _I sit back on my heels, spine aching, fingers and palms bleeding, knees raw._

 _And still the hole is too shallow to take Hew and the babe._

 _Anger is growing apace in the core of my belly. So God will not even let me bury my family? Their deaths pointless, pitiful. Was this to be their final shame?_

"Haddie...another soldier is come!"

 _Tom curls himself down and buries his face in his hands. He is a child again, holding the notion that if he could not see them, they could not see him._

 _I drag him to me and hold his thin body tight._

 _There is the thud and clatter of a single horseman drawing near. I shudder._

 _What new atrocity has God chosen to visit upon us?_

###

A knight, his squire and two poor friars with a lumbering waggon,appoached the ford, all were travel stained and weary.

"How far to Lincoln, my lord? The road to that town would seem never-ending." Friar William was not unaccustomed to long journeys, but this appeared to him to be a marathon. The good-natured colossus, Brother Jocelyn, who rode with him on the creaking wagon seemed oblivious to the unforgiving jolting the unkempt roads afforded.

Robert de Renouf rolled his aching shoulders. "Another day, if the weather holds." He found the inquisitive little friar's constant referring to him as 'my lord', truly aggravating. However, the will of his master, the Bishop of Winchester, was oft times impenetrable. That devious cleric's schemes were things of snares and mazes. And so Sir Robert found himself charged with the welfare of this sulk of friars.

It was best he did not dwell on the reasoning of his betters.

De Renouf's knee pained him, the old injury never seemed to ease below an ache. It served only to sharpen an already sharp temper.

"Ho...master, Blount is come back!"

Pulling his mount to a halt, de Renouf grunted acknowledgement to Piers, his squire, and watched as his erstwhile sergeant rode towards them at speed.

The seasoned man-at-arms called as he slowed. He leaned forward, rubbing the neck of his mount and pressing the stitch in his own side.

"A cot afire by the ford...work of a hireling troop by the look of it...an hour, maybe two ahead."

"Could be just brigands, wolfsheads?" Friar William ventured.

Blount drew level. He gave the cleric doubtful look as if the idea was beneath consideration, but out of politeness he replied, "Wolfsheads seldom ride, and these are well shod horses."

"Maude or Stephen?" de Renouf snapped.

"Hard to tell. There's a cottar woman and a child that seemed to have survived the visit."

"Well then, we must needs enquire of them." Sir Robert's tone was disdainful. He wanted no distractions on this journey, his mission was secret and he had no intention of crossing swords with men of the Conquerors granddaughter, however small the band. His master, the bishop, would be singularly displeased if word of this undertaking reached the Empress.

As the small troop approached the smouldering remains of what had been a cottage and forge, a smoke grimed woman and child stood. They moved, stumbling as they backed away. The woman wiped her eyes with her sleeve and waited.

"Woman, who did this?" de Renouf called imperiously.

"Rats, they're bad this time of year." The peasant woman mumbled, just loud enough to be heard. She turned to the small boy at her side and pulled him behind her.

"You'll keep a civil tongue in your head. _Answer_ , who did this?" Sir Robert was in no mood for recalcitrant peasants. He launched himself off his mount, landing on his weak leg. It jarred, but he covered the wince. The woman looked at him as if _he_ were the vermin.

"Rat's wearing the emblem of some greedy murdering lordling looking to ingratiate himself with some other noble sort! That's who." She turned away, but only got one step and found herself slammed hard against what was left of the wall of the smithy.

Sir Robert's huge form dwarfed her and his dagger was at her throat. "Answer me with respect whore, or I'll take your worthless life."

"Oh, just another _noble sort_." Haddie sneered softly. "And, as my whoring life be worthless, _take it_! See how that satisfies your lust for blood... _Sir_ Knight."

Friar William coughed and fell back from what he saw in the remains of the smith's shed. "Sir Robert!"

 _"What?_ I have business here!" the knight bit out angrily.

"I think you should see, my lord."

Removing the dagger from the peasant woman's throat, Sir Robert released her, but gestured with the weapon at the ground in front of her. "Stay _there_."

She looked at him with ill concealed loathing, but stayed where she was, rubbing at the raw skin of her gullet.

Looking on the sight the Friar showed him, Sir Robert cuffed his mouth on his sleeve. He glanced at the woman and boy, at her dirt covered hands, then back at the small hole they had obviously been trying to dig. With a curse that horrified the friar, he turned, strode to the hole, knelt, and began to dig using his dagger. "Blount, and you Piers, cut the man down. Wrap the bodies as best you can...Have a care of the babe."

 _I watch impassively as they bury my husband and son, I do not grieve for Hew, only my poor little Rabbit. He had no life._

 _Smoke and grit even now stings my eyes. The friar says his words, but I do not hear my loss, wretchedness or outrage, I hear naught but the begging of God's forgiveness! What forgiveness does my child need, he who never even walked? Hew should be in Hell for all his iniquities, he cheated his customers, lied, committed sinful acts forbidden by the Church. But he paid his tithes, fed the old priest till he was stuffed. Oh, he will not face the fires of Hell, he has bought his way out of the Judgement._

 _Mother of Heaven, have I lost even my faith?_

 _I look at our home, it's thatch and beams smoking still, and I curse all soldiers, and all their kin. My heart's scars will never repair._

 _I cannot think of tomorrow. Tom and I must look to ourselves, find shelter, food, start again._


	4. Part 4

_When Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 4_

' _Tis done. My son and husband are shriven and buried, but not in the church yard as I would have wished. The little stout friar said it was no matter, God and his saints recognise all innocents when come upon._

 _I was so close to laughing when he said that, the high and mighty knight looked at me with scornful eyes. But I clenched my teeth, held my tongue still._ _How could I tell this godly man that while my babe was sinless, my husband was not. Not by any saints judgement. A lecher and a bully, is what he was._

 _Tom is sleeping, his small head in my lap. I stroke the dirty dark hair and hum a lullaby softly, to soothe his poor dreams._ _I will not let others see my grief. I know when they look they see base, dull peasants. They expect us to whine, beg for alms and aid._

 _We will not._

 _The big friar is crooning to the old nag that draws the waggon, the small one is talking in earnest with the ill-tempered knight. They are arguing, but the friar never raises his voice. The knight slams about and looks angrily at us. What do I care? There is nothing but the open road for Tom and me now._ _I can feel the tears, they make my eyes itch. I will not cry._ _I-WILL-NOT!_

###

"And what is your name child?"

The question puzzled Haddie; those of higher station did not usually ask the names of peasants. "Hadwise, I am Hadwise." Touching her stepson's shoulder, she said, "and this is Tom."

Friar William nodded, as if there is significance in it, that it could aid them in their predicament. "Do you have people you can go to, family perhaps?" He asked quietly.

Haddie caught the scowling glance of the knight and almost snapped at the holy man. "Crumleigh, the convent there will take us in."

"Ah, Crumleigh...I see..." The idea seemed to please him. Turning to the sergeant at arms, the friar asked. "Is it out of our way by much?

The big man sucked in his mouth, as if tasting a sour apple. "Not by much." He glanced at the knight who was busy with the strap at his courser's belly. "Will he allow it d'ya think?"

"Oh aye he'll allow it right enough." The little friar dusted off his hands and stood straight. "Come, if we leave now we may make up the time. There is nothing here for you now child, come away."

" _Crumleigh, that's where we are going_." Haddie whispered into Tom's hair with soft conviction.

"Then look lively, we best be on our way afore Sir Robert reaches the end of his forbearance." Blount nodded knowingly towards his captain.

Haddie nudged Tom awake and sleepily he rose. Together they gathered what little they had left. Brother Jocelyn, the huge, silent friar, lifted Tom onto the waggon with care and gentleness as Haddie loaded their pitiful belongings.

The knight looked back, his face is thunderous. Turning his horse abruptly he trotted towards them. "They walk!" He tossed the heartless words as if they were a curse. Briskly returning to his natural place at the head of the small group, he wasted not so much as a fleeting look at the limping peasant and child

###

The little party trailed slowly along the forest road. When Tom faltered in his stride, Haddie hoisted him on her back and carried him. The recent months without proper food had left him feather light...almost.

She walked on.

A sudden thunder of hooves, a cloud of dust had Tom sliding from her back and hiding behind her.

With a curt nod, Sir Robert growled to no one in particular. "Get them on the cart. We move too slow." Naught else would have persuaded him 'twas only from soured spleen he made them walk. He felt no contrition; they were burdensome, nothing more. "I want them gone on the morrow." He turned the great creature and was gone.

Haddie and Tom settled in the cart.

###

The light was fading as camp was made, even for men such as they, travelling after dark was unwise.

The brook, whose meander the road followed, lay close by. Haddie looked at the tumbling water, thought to take Tom and wash the smoke stains and grime from them, but she had no will for it. Instead she sat heavily on the ground, closed her eyes to the world. Instead she sat heavily on the ground and closed her eyes to the world.

"Here, eat."

Haddie was startled back from the verge of sleep.

Blount squatted before her, offering bread and cheese. "Don't eat fast. Chew long, lest yer belly rebel, throw 't all back." He nodded at Tom as he spoke, a stern fatherly look.

"Gods good grace to you sir." Tom said politely. Haddie's heart surged with pride and shame. He was a better person than she.

"And t' ye lad, and t' ye." Taken aback by the boy's good manners, the sergeant passed Haddie a flask of prettily tooled leather. "Small beer mistress, drink slow. 'Tis weak but on an empty belly 'twill make yer light headed

Taking it gratefully, she stroked the finely worked surface.

Blount saw the admiration and smiled. "'T'was me wife's gift." The smile came quick and faded just as swiftly. Once more a soldier, he stood and strode briskly away.

Sir Robert stood first watch, his back against a tree. He drew his dagger, and began to hone its dull edge with a whetstone.

Haddie and Tom lay curled beneath the waggon. From there she watched the irascible knight, distrust curdling in her stomach.

###

 _I hold myself in check, make no show of it, but a light has been lit._

 _To serve the nuns would not be so bad. I have a strong back, can cook and letter, calculate, not too well, but sufficient. Tom could attend the sisters too. He has a helpful nature, is diligent and bright. We would have a roof, protection._

 _All I remember of Crumleigh is their abbess wanted me for her choir when I was a child, but that does not deter. Nor do memories of Mother Berthé's sharp rejection of the proposal give me pause. I had remained at the only home I knew, Saint Catherine's convent._

 _I can see the knight, 'Sir Robert' he calls himself, is like all his kind, he is a bully, a poor imitation of a noble man._ _What wretched folk we are, even when starving we had a home, property. Now all we have is a fishing pole, a blackened cooking pot and ladle._

 _Nothing else is whole_

 _Once I owned two kirtles and shifts, a woven girdle, boots of boiled leather for the winter, and finer kid slippers for church._

 _Now I have what I stand in._

 _And a fishing pole._

 _And cooking pot, with a ladle._

 _Ha, but the gallant knight was loathe to let us ride in the cart. But he had to yield. We slowed him, and that could not be born._

 _When he thundered down on us, I almost flung Tom under the waggon, thinking we were being attacked. But no, I was surprised by the lordling himself. His huge beast pawed viciously at the ground as it was forced to still. Its master stroked the sleek muscled neck. The gently soothing gesture for a horse angers me, but then I think of care that hand took to bury my child. And I hate him more, but there is no reasoning to my feelings, none save perversity ._

 _I have put aside some of the sergeant's bread and cheese for the morrow. Who can say if there will be generosity then?_

 _Tom snuggles against my belly. The ground is hard but we are a comfort to one another and we sleep._


	5. Part 5

While Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 5

 _The horses snort and nicker gently at their rest. The soft sound has woken me; I lie listening to the quiet of the night._

 _I have no dreams, not of my boy, not of my un-lamented husband. No dreams of any kind. My sleep is a deep, dark, and empty place. I know the loss of a child is no great thing in a world such as this. I know the mother of heaven has drawn my child to her, as she does all unblemished souls. Of this I am certain. But still...I thought...I thought to mourn him, to grieve full sore at his hateful death._

 _But I cannot; I am glad he is released, glad he is free of all this cruelty. My poor little rabbit never walked, his baby legs lacked even that strength._ _I fumble for his name._

 _I have forgot his name! How can that be? My child, my rabbit, lambkin, my angel, but his name...his name?_

 _A sob is strangled in my throat. His birth brought me such joy, his tiny fist held my heart fast, and now even his name is gone. I catch the despair in my chest, hold it in horror._

 _Martin. His name in Christ is...was, Martin!_ _Such a foolish thing to give a babe a grown man's name. I hug Tom closer to me and cry as quiet as I can for my forgotten little rabbit._

 _###_

Lying curled protectively around Tom's small form; Haddie watched the sun edging its way up through the trees, pulling the day behind it. Brother William sat at his prayers by the fire, Brother Jocelyn was snoring loudly from his hard bed on the ground. Sir Robert and Sargeant Blount were both sleeping, heads resting on their saddles. It was a strangely companionable sight.

Haddie's mind was abuzz with ways to gain favour with Crumleigh's abbess, ways to show their worthiness, piety, aye and their usefulness.

At Saint Catherine's Mother Berthe liked intelligence and cleanliness; one directed the other, she said. Dirt was the sign of a slovenly mind she had held.

They must be clean.

Rousing Tom from his sleep, shushing his complaints, they tried to slip quietly from the camp, but Brother William looked up from his devotions.

"I thought we might wash ourselves in the brook." Haddie muttered, bowing her head respectfully.

"Certainly, while all is quiet. Have caution though, child. Walk a safe distance to a bend in the brook, but no further. You should be out of harm's way there." His attention returned to his rosary, his thoughts to God and, of course, the will of the Bishop.

A huge fallen oak offered a screen from any chance passerby, its bulk comfortably imposing.

"Haddie 'tis early yet, and _too_ cold." Tom whined.

"We needs be at our best. The abbess must see not vagabonds, but worthy folk she can trust." Haddie pulled at his shirt as he reluctantly loosened the ties. "Now, breeches too."

Grudgingly he pulled himself free of clothes. "But the water's so cold..."

"In." She pointed to the tumbling water. "No arguments, and scrub yourself well."

As Tom shivered and dipped unwilling hands into the brooks flow, Haddie inspected his clothes for marks and stains, examined the seams for lice. She had made them a year past. They should be outgrown, but they hung on his spare form. The shirt no better, she clenched her jaw at the curse lingering there and set about cleaning off the worst of the smoke stains.

She used a fat-bellied stone at the water's edge, beat and rubbed the grime to submission.

Her shift was of good linen and unseen, half could be lost and none would be wiser. With determination she pulled at the seam, but the stitches were close and would not split. Frustration heaved at her as she kicked the pebbles at her feet. There were flints among the smooth stones; small, sharp flints. By worrying at the threads with a jagged edge, there was soon only half a shift. Now she had a width of almost clean white linen and a kerchief to wrap about her hair, make her housewifely.

###

It takes time, but when satisfied that Tom is fit to be seen in respectable company, she rubbed him down with his shirt, dressed him once more.

"You look...tidy." Haddie smoothed his hair, glad it had been shorn it but a sennight since. "Now be off back to the camp. Say your prayers and take a piece of bread and cheese to break your fast." Kissing his cheek when he looked solemnly at her, she sighed. "'Twill be better today. All will be better, I promise."

Alone, she hauled off what's left of her linens and stepped into the icy water.

Sliding to her knees in the cold, clear running brook, she shivered. Her eyes closed as a swoon almost took her. Gravel and sand scoured skin, stinging and grazing. Not weakening, she sat in the deepest flow, plunging head under the water.

She ignored the thunders in her brain, the pain strikes behind her eyes. The chilly water reddened her flesh, making it strangely warm. She bent to her task using sand from the brook bed to scrub. She cleaned her teeth, then under nails, with a ripped twig.

The feeling was good. The filth of existencewashed from her skin by honest, clean, God given water. Sinking into the icy purity, hair catching in the flow about her, she dipped again. Freedom, for a moment at least, was hers.

De Renouf led the prancing Cassius to the streams edge.

"God's morning to you Sir." Tom bobbed to the knight and raced to get his bread and cheese.

Sir Robert glanced about for the sullen mother, but there was no sign.

His horse, skittish at the smell of the water, was eager to drink. Loosening the reins he let the beast wander to the brooks edge.

So many nights on the road were taking their toll. He was a man of 30 summers, had slept the last six the soldier's way: Under wagons, next to his horse, on occasion in a good bed but oft times not. Now he found he wanted that good bed. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, he bent to the water and scooped a handful to refresh his brow.

The sound of splashing alerted him.

He stood abruptly, hand to his sword, preparing for a foe, and advanced with stealth towards the sounds.

To his surprise he saw a woman bathing.

 _The morose and glowering peasant woman._

He watched as she immersed herself, soaking her hair. When she stood, it fell, heavy with water, past her waist.

He turned hastily when the little friar's voice came low beside him.

"Come away Sir Robert. Allow the woman some decent seclusion to wash herself." Friar William frowned, placed a rebuking hand on his shoulder.

Robert shrugged him off. "If she'd wanted seclusion, then she should have tried harder, not held herself for display where any might see her."

Unabashed he looked back at her naked form. She was skinny. As she drew her hair up into a bunch he saw angles at her shoulders that alarmed, ribs he could almost count showed through, her backbone a knotted line from neck to tail.

Ah, but her buttocks were full and fine enough _, the kind a man could really grip when_...A tightening in his groin made him smile.

She turned, and to his satisfaction her breasts were plump and round. Even at this distance he was aware of their dark puckered crowns.

Seeing him, her hands flew to cover what they could. Then a look he knew to be resignation settled on her features. She stayed still and looked back at him.

Taking his fill of her, for her breast were bonny to look upon, he ignored her returning, watchful gaze.

 _Christ's balls!_

A sudden awareness disturbed the coarseness of his thoughts; a sliver of conscience bade him look away. The infant he buried, _'twas still at the breast_. Disgust filled him. Years of soldiering had left him callous, taken decency and replaced it with base and shameful arrogance.

Without a word, he turned, gathered Cassius's reins, and followed the friar back to the camp.

Haddie sank back into the stream to wash herself again, trying to rid her body of the stains of men's eyes.

###

 _The lout is nought but a lecher. The sooner we are at the Convent the better. No men there to eat at my soul, misuse me. I wish Mother Berthe had left me ignorant. I could have born it, I know I could. The curse of a woman's existence is a mind that dwells on what is possible, not what is probable. Better I had been educated just to sew, cook, and obey._


	6. Part 6

Part 6

 _Crumleigh Abbey is surrounded by a stout palisade. The high, heavy gateway makes me think of my father's Hall at Highford, but the wood is not yet silvered. It is still fresh, new. Above, the roof of the abbey rises tall, imposing. It makes my beloved Saint Catherine's seem plain and poor._

 _Here we would be safe from the unholy brigands that roam at will._

 _The lordling does not dismount. He is unmoved, impassive as to our fate, content to leave our removal from his sight to Friar William. The lecherous bastard was happy enough to stare at me when I was naked. Aye, it suited him then._

 _I steal a look at the high and mighty Sir Robert's broad back. His horse prances, as eager as he to be gone. God rot the man, even the sight of his back makes me angry._

 _###_

"This must be a very wealthy house my child. They should be well able to shelter you," Brother William said, sounding relieved. Once this Christian duty was done it would be back to the Bishop's service.

Haddie turned to lift Tom from the wagon, but Blount was already swinging the boy to the ground, a good natured grin on his face.

"Get ye 'ence boy, and look t' yer mother's service. Give 'er duty owed and keep yersef in God's good grace."

"Yes sir," Tom said gravely.

Neither told the kindly sergeant that Haddie was not Tom's mother. _What would be the reason in that?_

Brother William banged hard at the gate till a small grill opened.

"Your business, sir?" the pert young face of a wimpled girl appeared there.

"To see your lady abbess, sister. We are seeking an act of charity."

After much muted whispering and chatter, the gate opened and Brothers William and Jocelyn were led inside with Haddie and Tom following closely. Sir Robert ignored the goings on. He remained aloof and wheeled his courser around the cart, intolerant of the delay. His sergeant and squire occupied themselves with studious study of the roadway. Neither wished to cross their master in his obvious mood of discontent.

Trailing group of tittering young women after her from a solid, stone built hall, a stout sister of superior stance and fine dress nodded greeting to Friars William and Jocelyn, but glanced dismissively at the cowed woman and child.

Her greeting was formal.

"I am lady Adelina, mistress of novices. What can we poor sisters help you with?" The good cloth of her robe showed clear she was no 'poor sister', but the falsehood appeared to trouble her not.

The group of chattering young women circled Tom and Haddie, inspecting with critical eyes and testing words. Haddie hung back, holding the boy to her, she bowed her head. Whatever this place held for them they must be humble, grateful.

"How goes the Lady's fight against the King?" one asked.

"How would she know stupid, she's but a cottar woman?" another chided.

"Did you see the knight, he was big and...Such a pity he stayed without." Giggles broke out again.

"Aye, but the squire was pretty too!"

Haddie pulled Tom closer, all she need do was hold her tongue, keep eyes lowered, appear modest, meek, and respectful.

Brother William spoke soft, but firm. "I would speak with the mother of your house. I have a need of her assistance, if you would please..."

"She is at her devotions, but I can assist you, I'm sure."

Friar William looked about him curiously. "You are a well-dowered house sister, who is your benefactor?" Indeed he had noticed more stabling than was usual in a house of women.

"Oh, we are favoured by some of the noblest families." She caught the friars questioning look and hurried on. "But that is of no account, do you need shelter?" she gestured to the closed gates. "There are men at arms without, are there not?"

"We are of Sir Robert de Renouf's party. But I should still wish to see the mother..."

In the midst of the exchange, a tall, well-dressed woman came from the cloister. She was all sweet apologies. "Brother you must excuse us, we are unused to sudden visitors. I am Ermina, Abbess of Crumliegh. Welcome to our house. Come, follow me, we will have refreshment." She beckoned him in.

Haddie pulled Tom back, thinking to wait outside, but the friar waved her on.

The richness of the abbey was most unusual; silk hangings and brightly woven cushions were everywhere. Richly carved benches sat against walls. Nothing to suggest the vows of poverty were adhered to with any diligence.

The Abbess led them graciously into a room of pleasant condition, taking her ease in a well-padded chair. She smiled politely, confident at her visitor's disadvantage.

Friar William observed her with a wary eye. There was wealth indeed within the walls of this community. He hoped Hadwise and Tom, who stood heads bowed in humble demeanour, would find protection and shelter. This was not much to ask from a house as rich as this. He glanced at the abbess, stately and sure of herself in her comfortable domain. More signs of wealth lay about in negligent fashion in the private solar. A large silver ewer and two gleaming cups sat on a highly polished board. A lush hanging draped across one corner of the room, high on the wall a gold crucifix gleamed softly.

He sighed to himself in thought, what life awaited them here? Servitude and drudgery at best, but what more could a poor widow and her fatherless boy expect in these times, or any other?

A small white hand, heavy with gaudy gems set in gold, flicked out from the fine wool habit towards the ornately carved chair opposite her. Brother William did not approve of this abbess and the extravagance of her holy abode. Nonetheless he sat, but declined the offer of cooled wine.

"Lady Mother, this widow is a free woman deprived of a husband's protection, of home and hope. A victim of the marauding bands that plague our land. I would ask that you show her and her son the charity as our Mother Church demands of us." He fidgeted on the feathered cushion, its very luxury causing him more unease than comfort. "I am sure some employment could be found for them both, at no true cost to the abbey."

The abbess shifted in her seat, elegant fabric whispering her movement. "I am grateful you consider us a fitting house sir. But... _ah_ , _times are difficult."_ She smiled sweetly. "We have given succour to many poor souls, it may be problematic to find room for more..."

"Lady Mother, I beg you, please..."

To the friars surprise the peasant woman was suddenly on her knees before the alarmed looking abbess.

"I can letter and calculate, cook. I know simples, the use of herbs. I can..."

"Indeed!" The abbess drew back, her distaste plain. She looked haughtily down at the pleading young woman. "And what need do you think I have of a _woman clerk_ , or yet _another_ house servant?"

Brother William eyed Hadwise with curiosity now. _She could read and write? What oddity was this?_ "How came you by these skills, child?" he asked.

"I was six years a postulant to Saint Catherine at Highbrooke. Lady Mother Berthe gave me instruction, 'till my stepmother arranged a marriage." She pulled herself up, pride at last coming to the surface it seemed. She faced the reverend mother. "I sang once for the bishop, one Christmastide." Desperate to hang on to the interest she had roused, she rushed on. "You were there lady, asked for me to come, sing here, do you not remember?"

Distaste turned to piqued attention. The abbess studied the girl more closely. "I have no memory of it...The bishop you say?" A look of deep recall lined the smoothly refined face. "Lady Berthe...hmm. Ah! I know it, the dark child, a Jew or a Saracen maid?" The graceful plucked brow furrowed in perplexed thought, then cleared. "Old Thane Leofstan's bastard child! Yes _now_ I recall." She looked mightily pleased. "The sweet voiced little pagan, yes now I see it." She took hold of the young woman's chin turning her face to the light. She laughed. "'Twas a clear, bright sound as I mind. Well, do you still sing child?"

"When I can lady."

"Then sing daughter, let us decide if God's gift remains." The abbess sat back and waited.

Brother William's unease grew at this new turn, but he knew not what disturbed him so. The girl looked tired, drained, she slumped.

"I have not..."

"Come now, you can, or you cannot." The delicate white hand dusted lightly at the over fine gown. "I have no need of another clerk, nor cook, and we have washer women aplenty. But if perhaps you might provide another service..."

So Haddie sang.

 _"This ae neet, this ae neet,_

every neet and all,

Fire and fleet and candle-leet,

And Christ receive thy soul..." _"_

 _Fire and fleet and candle-leet,_

And Christ receive thy soul."

Both the friars and the abbess stared, transfixed.

Haddie had sung from her heart. The fate in death, the path that shall always lead to Christ and his judgement, was so close to her now. She was tired beyond sleep. But, though she supposed herself sapped of all spirit, the very act of singing gave her the delight she thought lost, it glowed in her eyes for all to see. When the lady Ermina clapped her hands in pleasure, brothers William and Jocelyn were startled back to the moment.

"Oh, my dear, yes! The tone...so sweet, so clear..." The abbess frowns in reflection. "But now you have a throatiness, hiding a rich sensuality..." She glanced at the friar, corrected herself. "Not a missed note, not a clumsy gasp! Think you not her a rare find, brother?"

The unease in the friar's stomach grew, but as the thoughts took form the door flew open and a great clattering behind them made all turn. Piers, Sir Robert's squire stumbled in, red faced, followed by a young nun, her rosy cheeks and lips straining to hold a demure smile.

"I beg forgiveness madam, but my master is most anxious to be on his way, he says... _asks_ the brother here to make haste to conclude his business forthwith." The discomfited boy would not look up.

Behind him the girl bit her lip prettily.

Brother William sighed and rose, what more could he do? "Very well, tell him I will be but a..."

"He is most insistent you come _now_ Brother," the boy pleaded.

The regal Lady Ermina raised herself and smiled indulgently at the disturbed Friar William. "Go brother, your unfortunate lambs will find safety and relief here." She flicked a look at the girl and her child.

Between the anxious squire and the predatory nun, the cleric surrendered to duty. "Very well." Sighing, he stood and took Hadwise hands in his own. "God keep you and your child safe." Then, signing his blessing, he left, burying all his disquieted notions.

"Sister Hilde take the boy to the kitchen. Tell cook to feed him well."

Haddie nodded encouragement to Tom as he hesitantly followed the mistress of novices.

The Lady circled her new songstress, inspecting it seemed. Haddie stood straight, eyes cast down.

"I hope your boy is not wilful, I will not stand for wilfulness."

"Oh, no Lady. He is a good and ready boy. I have taught him his letters and some of his numbers." She was eager to impress more.

Then with a sudden movement the binding about Haddie's hair jerked free.

"Madame!" Clutching in surprise at her unbound hair, Haddie lurched back.

"My troth, but you're a handsome little song bird." The abbess laughed.

But another sound caught Haddie's ear. A deep, husky chuckle from the screened corner. The curtain rattled on its rings as it was pulled aside. A tall man stepped out into the room, red hair high on his pate.

"Well, what uncommon times are these? A learned, buxom songstress, and her tutored brat".

The very marrow in Haddie's bones froze.

###

 _The murderer of my own sweet babe, my husband's torturer._

 _'Tis he! How comes he here? What is he that he can enter the abbess's private place?_ _Desperation, fear, all marks of my wretchedness, tear at my soul. What sin earned me this persecution?_ _When I watched the little friar hurry away to dance attendance on that bastard lordling, I thought us saved._

 _But now I know we are truly in Hell._


	7. Part 7

When Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 7

 _I thought to find sanctuary for Tom and me, instead we find ourselves in the lair of the beast._

 _Being pushed and pulled through the busy kitchens, I caught sight of Tom, he was eating snowy white bread with both hands. His eyes wide and dazed, two boys seemed to be arguing over him, but he just ate steadily before he is robbed of it._

 _The women chattered and snapped at me, pulled off my precious kirtle and ragged shift. All in the guise of benevolence they combed my hair, rubbed on perfumed ointments._

 _I am nothing to them._

 _And endlessly they chattered on._

 _I learned that the vicious fiend is Andreas le Pierre, one of the Flanders brigands the king pays to ravage his people. But they laughed, called him Sir Dries or 'le beau bête' the beautiful beast._

 _Beautiful! I do not see beauty! I but see a blackened soul awaiting only the Devil's call._

 _And the mother of this house is his sister._

 _His-sister!_

 _Aye and more, if the tittering harlots that scoured my body are to be believed._

 _I am to be his entertainment for the night. Well, I shall slit his vile throat, slash his chest, heave out his still beating heart. We shall see how entertaining that is!_

 _###_

"The songstress will be a novelty for our more discerning visitors, and the boy is a pretty child. The mother says he is biddable, so I'll let him be seen about the place looking tempting. I dare say he will draw the attention of the pederasts." The Abbess selected a damson from the bowl, inspected it, and offered it to her brother over her shoulder. "All allowing they clean up well that is."

"Sister you are a wonder, from dross you conjure gold." He kissed her neck lovingly, took the offered morsel, tossed it in the air, catching it like a practised juggler. "The woman I want though," he said, sucked on the ripened fruit, and chucked her under the chin. "I have need of an earthy fuck. I'll break her in for you." Catching up his sister's hand, he kissed the slender finger tips like a lover. "I had the very Devil of a time chasing ghosts for Casals's paramour. This is _not_ my calling. I am a soldier not her personal assassin. For the moment I need entertainment."

"You did not find the Bishop's man then?"

"Nay, the foolish cuckold has likely taken ship back to the Holy Land, the sanctimonious loon." He cuffed his mouth, wiping damson juice from his lips.

"The name again...of Bishop Henry's _'sanctimonious loon'?"_

"de Renouf, he holds a small manor and a few sparse acres from de Waleran, but they would suit me well. With him gone, my Lord is disposed to give me the titles."

" _But my darling Dries_ ," she patted his arm eagerly. _"That was the name the friar gave the knight escorting their party!"_

His interest caught, Le Pierre replied with impatience, "you are sure?"

"Oh brother, did you not _listen_? They were bound for Lincoln I believe."

"Well, well," he mused. "I can only be in awe of the fates that brought us the sweet song bird, _and_ the delightful Marcillia's estranged husband." Ridding himself of the damson stone, slipping his arms about her waist, he added softly in her ear, "...and, as we know he goes to Lincoln we can let him, follow on the morrow, then rid the world of him in a simple tavern brawl. And we, sweet sister, will increase our fortune with land and manor."

The smiling abbess poured wine for them both. The family's affaires were improving daily.

###

"I like it not, there was something much amiss there," Friar William tutted as he seated himself next to Brother Jerome.

Sir Robert sat stiffly in his saddle, ignoring the mumbling priest, and his own disquiet. He could not bring to mind what made him so uneasy, but some soldier's sense gave him a prickle in his long healed shoulder wound. In the winter cold it ached, but when he was wary, why it itched like the very Devil.

They were, however, overdue on the Bishop's business, and there were his own affairs to be dealt with. He had no time for nonsense. "Now, if we make an effort, we may reach Lincoln before nightfall." He spurred his horse and set the pace for the small party.

For an hour they travelled the empty road. Piers held back, the normally animated adolescent rode in silence alongside the cart. Blount kept step with his master, but was conscious of the lad's unusual quietness. When the sergeant at arms could take the quiet no more, he drew back and tackled the boy. "Out with it master squire, what's eatin' at yer vitals?"

Piers coughed, looked sideways at the Friar, a red flush on his cheeks.

"You'll not be scolded, but there's something batterin' ya."

"The young nun, the pretty one...she, she offered to...wanted me to..." The words spluttered out in a rush. "She offered a futter, there...right _there_. Said it would cost me naught. 'Twas a gift 'cos I was pleasing!"

Robert had pretended no interest, but his ears pricked now.

Blount laughed aloud at the squire's missed opportunity. Slapping the youngster amiably across the back, and crossing himself in mock piety, he chuckled. "You turned down a free fuck? My, but your education be sorely lackin'."

Sir Robert's original unease was made worse listening to the callow jabbering of young Piers. Of course, he told himself, it was not for the sour faced jade and her child. This was...Hell, he knew not what it was, only that he could tell a wrong thing when he saw it.

And that place was wrong.

 _"God's dammed cods!"_ Robert tugged on the reins, turning back toward the Abbey.

###

Haddie lay, naked and wretched on a fine, carved bed, her hands tied in front of her.

She had been cooed over, cajoled, assured she was in safe hands. When the women found she was not _fully_ mindful of the honour done her by the handsome Sir Dries, they held her down. When she fought them, they tied her and tried to pour wine down her throat.

She spat it back.

Now plans swam in her head, only to be caught in the eddy of her confusion, splinter and wash away. Cursing, she shut her eyes, her plot for his painfully, bloody death was foolish. She could not kill him, if she did how would she find Tom after? How would they get away? With no weapon, no knowledge of the abbey, _no clothes even?_ It was impossible.

Her teeth clenched tight, given a day or two they might gain trust, gather what they needed. Then when the abbey slept, they could flee into the night. Compared to this unholy place, even to travel with the foul sir Robert appeared a positive blessing!

Low male laughter and muffled feminine squeals broke into her disordered mind. The door opened, clattering against the wall.

Haddie curled her body inward, like a hedgepig protecting its self.

"Ho, ho...Now here is my pretty little feast," Andreas le Pierre mocked. Dressed only in shirt and hose, he lurched into the room, kicked the door shut, and leant back. He sipped from a silver goblet and surveyed her, reflected on his course. The rough futtering he had considered was now displaced by more appealing activities. "Sleeping songbird? A poor choice of pastime I think."

The French was guttural. Haddie only partially understood its meaning, but then he didn't seem to care if she followed his words.

Pushing away from the door, sauntering to the bed, he inspected the body that would serve as distraction. Running a callused fingertip over the curve of her spine, he murmured, "Such fine golden skin...odd for a serf...Mmm, but then you are a Saracen whore, are you not?"

Haddie shivered, but still would not open her eyes. Looking upon the beast would just stoke the blaze of her righteous anger, and may well let him see the impotence she felt. A man of his sort would revel in that, and thus cheat her of even of anger.

 _I am lost, Tom is lost._

 _For one pure moment I fancied God returned my voice to me, gave back hope. But it is not so, there is merely more humiliation, more cruelty. Why am I unheard by God and His Mother? Can it be that my offences are so obscene to their sight that no absolution is possible? But the opportunity of redemption is offered to all, did not Mother Berthé tell us so!_

 _What a monstrous sinner I must be..._


	8. Part 8

When Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 8

 _Regina, mater misericordiae:_

 _Vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve._

 _Ad te clamamus, exsules, filii hevae._

 _Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes_

 _in hac lacrimarum valle._

 _Eia ergo, Advocata nostra,_

 _illos tuos misericordes oculos_

 _ad nos converte._

 _Et Iesum, benedictum fructum ventris tui,_

 _nobis, post hoc exsilium ostende._

 _O clemens: O pia: O dulcis_

 _Virgo Maria._

 _Hail, Holy Queen, Mother of mercy,_

 _life, our sweetness, and our hope, hail._

 _To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve;_

 _To you we sigh, mourning and weeping_

 _In this valley of tears._

 _Hurray, therefore, our advocate, turn those, your_

 _eyes of mercy toward us;_

 _And Jesus, the blessed fruit of thy womb,_

 _after this our exile._

 _O clement, O loving, O sweet Virgin Mary._

 _All I can do is pray._

###

Dries la Pierre stood over her, watching in amusement as Haddie's lips moved in soft prayer.

Curling a strand of her hair about his finger and murmured softly, "Oh, but of course you are _no whore_ ," pulling the strand tighter. "Just a sweet, innocent, convent bred songbird." His tone had changed, now it was the refined tongue of the Norman overlords he used. "But I'll warrant you have tasted much a man has to offer." Pulling her bound wrist sharply upwards, he further uncovered her shame. "And given your share of satisfaction I'll wager." Pleased with what was revealed, he jerked her arms above her head with spiteful force.

Haddie's only response was a tightening of her jaw.

This creature had no notion he had killed her babe, or even her husband. How many helpless folk had he slain, how many homes burned at _his_ order? Certainly such deeds were no strangers to him. The slaughter of her family was nothing more than a day of vigorous hunting, a thing of no account. Her child and husband were worthless.

No, Haddie thought, he would not recall their butchery.

A stinging slap caught her breast, she flinched, her mouth opened but no sound came. He let her arms fall back; he stepped away with a bored look. "No, this will not do." Turning away he drew a well cushioned chair into position opposite the bed. Making himself comfortable, long legs set wide, he spoke in perfect, but throaty English. "Now, up on your knees."

Haddie did not move.

 _"_ I said, _on-your-fucking-knees..."_ A threat clear in every word.

The knowledge that he could do what he wanted with her did her no good, there was no protection in it, no way to fight him, no way to evade his intentions.

Clumsily she struggled to rise as he ordered, but could get no purchase on the silken coverlet beneath her.

His expression did not change at her awkwardness, he just watched, and tasted his wine.

But the leisurely calm only added to her torment. Angry tears of frustration were only just held at bay. Hindered by her bound hands, she almost toppled.

It was then a purposeful demon broke free in her.

Let him think her a trull, a slut who would service him. She would get her revenge surely enough. Scrambling down, she staggered to her feet before him; straightened, stood with a dignity she did not feel.

La Pierre laughed, it should have been fear he saw in her eyes, but this new composure amused him even more. "And what do we have here? Is the frightened, desperate Madonna hiding?" He pantomimed looking about him, then as if impatient with his own game, took a swig of wine and tossed the cup and its dregs carelessly aside. "Well, now...I think we needs get about the business."

Holding out her bound wrists, Haddie tried a persuasive look, but knew he would untie her only when it suited.

"You think me a fool, little sparrow?" His smile was one of soft menace, lips curled in a twisted lie. Pale eyes darkened, he crooked his finger, summoning her to him. Haddie stepped into his reach and his hands were on her, pulling her forward.

La Pierre appreciated a true harlot, the kind of woman who knew how to tease a man just enough, but his appreciation of that was nothing compared to the pleasure dominance gave him. And here this luscious, ignorant slut was his to do with as he pleased.

Oh, and he _would_ be pleased.

Nuzzling softly at her belly, kneading the supple skin with his nose and chin, hands gripped her buttocks hard, squeezing, nails digging deep.

He looked up at her emotionless face, their eyes met, and with leisurely crudeness, he licked her navel.

The dip of his mouth lower at her belly made Haddie lose step in her pretence, breath hitched, a curl of something in her core caused a shudder. She curved against him, and felt his smile against her belly.

Then he bit her.

The sharp pain reminded her of what she was about. He would have no more of her, not even a malicious given sweep of pleasure.

She staggered back.

"Don't think to govern my sport, bitch. _I_ say what ceases, what begins." But wine had made him clumsy, his hold was not enough to keep her in place.

Haddie dropped to her knees, cupped her hands at his groin, squeezing firmly. Hew liked this, she guessed any man would.

 _"_ Ho, ho, so you have _skill_?"The glee in his voice was almost boyish. Loosening the ties on his hose and braes, he pushed the roll over a hardening cock. _"_ Well then, _you may have at me!"_ He settled back. There was amusement to be gained from watching a woman choke on his cock.

Haddie breathed deep, remembering the steps. She knew of things that had pleased her husband, she had done them to appease his spiteful spleen. Though sometimes, things that pleased him one moment made him angry the next. She had never discovered why. Often he made her repeat those very things. It mystified her. Slowly she let her fingers glance over the uneven flesh of his sac. Leaning tight in, she delicately touched her tongue to the wrinkled skin.

 _"Less playing, get on with milking my fucking rod woman!"_ He snapped, and looked about for the discarded wine. Perhaps the slut would not be so entertaining after all?

She nudged the swaying length away, instead drew his fleshy pouch into her mouth and played her tongue under it. He hissed with sudden pleasure, slid his hips forward. Bolder, she snaked hands under the cloth of his braies, stroking the crease of his arse as her tongue toyed with his balls in their sac.

 _"Ha, that's better...Ah!"_ he gasped, his liking for this new turn evident.

Haddie judged her time, and abruptly nudged a finger tip into his anus.

 _"Sweet Jesu!"_ He jerked upward. " _Yes...Oh, yes..."_ his knuckles whitened as he gripped the arms of the chair. He ground out, _"your talents will make my sister's fortune!"_

Heavy eyed, she watched him. Trailing the sly finger back, she let his stones drop from her mouth, bestowing on him a look so brazen that he laughed aloud and stroked her cheek.

If anything the congenial gesture angered her further, her desire for vengeance made her more determined to cause his death. His appetites would cost him dear.

Gripping his cock tightly about the base, she slipped his shaft between her lips, took him in to her cheek, then slid back, she repeated the action. Her finger tip breaching him again, making him quiver. Now all he could do was growl, clench his teeth as she tortured him.

She drew her lips back, so they no longer covered her teeth, and skimmed back over the delicate flesh.

He shuddered and gasped in appalled pleasure.

Running her tongue over the glistening, swollen plum, she caught the fine slither of tissue that joined his foreskin. Hew had called it his 'little bridle'. She found it and flicked her tongue. The grunts and hisses of approval made her bolder, she let her teeth tighten, grip him.

"Careful slut, don't..." Haddie looked up, their eyes met again. At last he saw the truth, saw the cold anger there, and he was in wonder of it.

 _She hated him, for the love of God, the bitch plainly hated him...she could bite his cock clean off…but still he wanted more! "_ Oh, yes girl, yes!"His climax was coming. What manner of man would pull away now? The precariousness of his position only seemed to increase the height of his pleasure. The woman's silent threat stirred him to a point of exquisite pleasure.

Then she grasped his stones and twisted, pressed her finger deeper.

 _"Fucking Mother of Hell!"_

The words exploded as he did, Haddie jerked away as he came.

He gasped, head back, chuckling as he regained his breath. "Oh, you are mine, you cunning little whore, you shall be my pet. That mouth is a gift from the devil, and those fingers..." he whispered, "they shall be mine alone."

And the storm that seethed in her blew. Before he could speak more Haddie reared up, seized the fabric his shirt, wrenched him forward, and spat what leavings she had of him full into his face _._

Le Pierre's astonishment was swiftly followed by outrage, the back of his hand cracked across her cheek; she fell back from the force of it.

Rage seethed through him. That a whore had the nerve to do such a thing was beyond endurance!

He stood, wiping the foul mess ineffectually from his face, and tucked himself back into his clothes. His booted foot struck solidly into her belly. _"_ You'll regret that, bitch!"

Haddie didn't cry out, the pain was a welcome measure of the man. Nausea lurched through her. She coughed, spluttered, clenched her muscles to protect her from whatever came next, for there would surely be more.

Sir Dries poured water from the ewer, took a linen napkin and washed his cheek and mouth clean of the defilement. "You think this act can lie unpunished?" he turned from her, looking about for his cup and more wine. "No, no, there's a deal more I want from you." He sneered, as a pleasing thought crossed his mind. "I wonder how much of the lash it would take to contain that bile in your belly."

And then he fell, crumpling limply to the floor. Haddie stood breathing hard, the ewer still dripping in her hands, it's base smeared with his blood.

Had she killed him?

 _Was the beast dead?_

And she could not bite the burgeoning smile from her lip.

###

 _He is dead, and it was by my hand! I want to dance, pummel his corpse. Whether 'tis madness or rage, I know only that I want to laugh at him, slap him, scream at the fool._

 _A pet! He thought I would be his pet? Not I, not his nor any mans, not ever!_


	9. Part 9

While Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part9

As much as he tried to keep his mind on the Bishop's commission, all Robert could think about was that bloody woman and her runt child. They were assuredly costing time he could ill afford, putting the Bishops plans in danger of discovery. Added to which he was about to cause assault on a house of God. No matter it was in reality a brothel, as like as not he would be excommunicated for this particular crime. Lord, but he was a fool.

Blount grinned and winked at Piers as they turned back along the trail. "I knew 'ed relent. An' 'ard bastard 'e may well be, but a good man none the less.

###

It was getting dark as they cantered toward the Abbey gate house "Get the waggon behind the trees and be ready for us." Sir Robert said in a low voice to Brother Jocelyn. "Brother William and I will pay the abbess a visit. But as a precaution...Piers, I want you in their stable. Loose any mounts you find there into the yard. That should make for some nice confusion. Blount, you stand ready in the cloister, if the holy drab is unhelpful we'll have to search. But we are to be out as swiftly as possible. Then we put a deal of road betwixt that place and us." The possibility of armed men being present and alert needed them all on their guard. Dismounting, Sir Robert muttered testily, "The Bishop will have my hide for this if it goes awry."

"'Tis the right thing to do. The Bishop is a good man, he'll see the truth of it," Blount replied staunchly

"Oh, but he'll find ways to make me pay," The knight retorted. He was angry, a state he was accustomed to. Much of the last five years he had tottered on the edge of fury; the death of his father-in-law had hurtled him into a pit of recrimination and despair. And now that he was but a whisper from regaining his place in the kings good graces, his master chose to change sides, support the Empress instead of his brother. And to cap it all he, Robert de Renouf, was playing at knight errant to rescue a worthless, sullen trollope. Oh, he could imagine Marcillia's delight at that, aye and the bawdy jokes her lover Casals would bandy about at court. Like as not the king himself would find the story amusing: The wretched murderer and cuckold husband now turned rescuer of whores and beggared guttersnipes.

Slamming the flat of his gloved hand against the oaken door, the knight shouted, "Open up, Brother William is returned to see the abbess."

The Judas hole creaked and the wizened face of the gatekeeper appeared. "Go away, she ain't receivin'."

"Good man, open the door, I will see Mother Abbess punish you else!" Friar William shrugged at the querying look Sir Robert gave him. It was but a small lie, and for a good cause.

A stream of mumbled, disgruntled sounds issued from inside. The groan of complaining hinges announced the opening of the heavy door.

" _Oi!_ How many of you are there?" The old man stood back, put out as Blount shouldered passed him, and Piers sprinted towards the stables.

"Just enough, old fella, just enough." Blount turned and clapped him on the back, shoving him toward Brother William.

"Lead on then man, we've business to attend to," Sir Robert snapped.

The impious comfort of the abbess's parlour did not surprise Robert, he knew what the place was, had seen much finer on his travels in the east. But in the end a whorehouse was a whorehouse, be there silken beds or pallets of fouled straw. Delights, however fleeting, needed always to be paid for, and in his experience those that pedalled flesh lied and were honest in equal measure. But bawdy houses hid more troubles than thieving whores or watered wine. Spies and rebels, thieves and cut throats made their beds and hid such places. Secrets masked more secrets.

And he did this for no more reason than the sad look in a woman's eyes? Aye, he deserved the Bishop's derision. Sparing the abbess no politeness, no pretended deference, Sir Robert announced baldly, "I want the boy and the woman back."

Brother William had hoped to negotiate quietly, slip stealthily away into the night, but it was not to be.

The abbess had lost her former poise, the authoritative churchwoman was gone. She was all fluttering hands and stuttering disbelief. "What do you mean...what woman...what child?" Before she could say more, a muffled voice came from behind a richly coloured tapestry on the wall, quickly followed by the unmistakable sounds of heated male pleasure.

The three stood transfixed. Brother William looked puzzled, the abbess horrified, Sir Robert glacial. When the noises took the tone of violence being done, the knight drew his sword, pulled back the drapery, and without pause, kicked open the hidden door.

He expected to see the woman lying bleeding on the floor. Instead the peasant woman stood, naked and clutching a silver ewer to her chest, holding it as if her very life depended on it. At her feet, the unmoving body of a half dressed man.

Haddie stared wide eyed at Sir Robert. "I...have killed him?"

"Nay," he snarled. "I think not." His eyes were drawn back to her. That cursed hair, all midnight wild, falling about her, withholding pale skin from him. It was only the frantic agitation of the abbess at his back that forced reality on him. Aiming a healthy kick at the body on the floor, he was rewarded with a deep groan.

 _"Dries!"_ The Abbess pushed into the room and dropped to her knees. "My sweeting, what have they done to you?"

Sir Robert moved quickly, he freed the ewer from Haddie's grasp, tossing it aside. Then, without acknowledging her nakedness, hooked the coverlet from the bed and wrapped it about her. "Come girl, he'll not be a happy man when he wakes." The words were brisk, but not ungentle.

Haddie looked down at the fabric now covering her, confusion obvious. "But..."

"We must be away girl, come." Sir Robert put his arm about her to lead her away, but Haddie sidestepped him, pushing away.

 _"No, he is not dead!"_ Disappointment clear in her voice. "He must die, he must pay!" She lunged back, dropping her cover, kicking and flailing wildly at Le Pierre's torso. "You murdered my precious Rabbit! You are the Devil, the most _evil_...!"

Grabbing her by the waist hauling her up to his chest, Robert grunted in annoyance. "Come away, NOW! You want to hang for a rabbit?"

" _You_...you are no better than he. You are naught but heathen beasts!" she spat, fighting him. He tried clamping her arm to her sides, but she twisted and slapped at him, bit at his shoulder, but only caught at the leather of his jerkin, angering her more.

With Brother William's aid, Robert managed to wrap her tightly, slinging her, with little care, over his shoulder. Her fierce writhing earned her a hefty, stinging swipe at her behind. It quieted her enough for Robert to pass quickly out of the building and across the courtyard. Reaching the gatehouse they heard the skittering and whinnying of the loosened horses. Blount and Piers came into sight, Tom between them, his pale face drawn and fearful.

Seeing him Haddie pounded once more on Roberts back. "Let me down oaf, you're hurting me, let me down I say!"

"Not until we reach the waggon." He grunted, tightening his grip. "We don't want you tripping on your 'gown' do we?" He heft her higher on his shoulder, ignoring her further complaints.

Making it through the gatehouse, they were greeted by Brother Jocelyn. Haddie found herself dumped hastily to the bed of the wain, Tom jumped up beside her, throwing himself into her arms.

"Haddie, they were going to eat me! I know they were!"

"Hush my love, we'll be safe soon." She looked up to see Sir Robert mounted and setting off at speed. Resentment seethed in her, and she had no idea why.

"Ho!" Brother Jocelyn called to the horses. The wooden boards creaked as the waggon heaved off at a rate it was most surely unsuited for.

###

 _Are we safe? Can we ever be out of evils path? I fear for Tom, fear that I will lead him to harm. I want La Pierre dead. Those thoughts alone will bring Tom no good. Mother Mary please have pity, cure me of my anger, I beg you. I want to beat the smug Lordling with a stick, and he saved us! Have I lost all womanliness, all goodness? What am I to want such a thing?_


	10. Part 10

_While Christ and his Angels Slept, a Sparrow Sang. Part 10_

 _The road is so very broken and rutted, but still Brother William drives the horses hard, we are thrown about like pebbles in a cup. The forest about us is all shadows and blackness, precious little of the moonlight breaks through; I do not know how he sees the way._

 _Tom, bless him is such a brave boy, he tells me I need not be afraid, we have friends now. Some I think, and we are out of that place and I am thankful of it. My only regret is the lordling did not let me take the worthless life of the murderer, Le Pierre._

 _Yet I feel such shame, the marks of that beast are all about me, I stink of his sin. I know the knight could see, smell it. Why did it have to be he that freed me?_

 _Holy Mother, I am even yet without clothes!_

 _When I hugged Tom to me I found his cheeks smeared with chalk, his lips painted red. I wiped him free of it as he told me a man wanted to eat him. I shudder at the thought of their intent for him. He is but a child, how much more evil can there be in the world?_

###

 _"Men come...eight I think. Fully armed...but no armour!"_ Piers hurtled breathless from the depth of the surrounding forest, his beast foaming.

"Damn it, I didn't think they'd gather themselves so speedily." Sir Robert turned his horse. "How far?"

"A league, maybe, riding fast, though their leader sways oddly in the saddle." The boy added, his tone puzzled.

"Ha, so he himself comes to avenge his precious honour." The knight said with a humourless chuckle. He knew well they could not out fight or out run their pursuers, the only option was to deceive them. "Blount, Brother William get the wain into the ditch. Brother Jocelyn and Piers go gather whatever branches and such you can find." He looked down at Haddie and Tom. "You boy, make yourself useful, go with them." To Haddie he merely tossed an offhand, "And you stay where you are woman."

Dismounting, he stroked the neck of his mount and whispered a soothing 'steady girl' as the horse whinnied in apprehension. "Brother William, tether the beasts well away from the road," His eyes met Haddie's, the sneer in his voice obvious. "We don't want the stray scent of any heated mare giving us away."

Sudden and unbidden, wanton, scorching thoughts invaded Haddie's mind, but he turned dismissively from her. She recoiled, ducked her head beneath the coverlet and hid her mortification.

Blount and Sir Robert together heaved the cumbersome vehicle off the road. The thick barrier of haws and holly tore at them, the men's grunted curses rung in the air. The ditch was steep, but the dry summer had left it relatively easy to negotiate.

"Is this enough?" Brother Jocelyn strode towards them pulling what looked like half a tree behind him. Piers and Tom followed with smaller offerings.

"Good." Sir Robert climbed up onto the waggon and began hauling the branches up to complete their concealment.

Haddie tried to keep away from the knight's heavy booted feet, his long legs seemed everywhere. More than once he stood on her covering, and scowling kicked it out of his way.

Blount stood on the road, alternately watching for their pursuers and directing the assembling of an effective disguise. At last he called low, "'Tis done, I can see nothing from here. Just as well..." He scrambled down the slope towards them. " _As they are upon us!"_

At once the work ceased, and the company were hid beneath the wain, all except Haddie. She lay still in the leafy, earth smelling, gloom. The thunder of iron upon hard earth struck her heart; she closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath.

No one spoke, no one moved, all waited for the shout that their deceit had been discovered. Minutes pulled, stretching impossibly long, muscles cramped, jaws clenched. When at last the sounds of horsemen faded completely, the very air relaxed.

They were safe?

###

Andreas le Pierre gritted his teeth, his sister was right; he should have left it to his men to track down the cuckold and the whore. Another wave of nausea rolled from his stomach, he swayed perilously in his saddle.

Tobin, his sergeant, rode close, grabbed his masters jerkin, holding the man upright. "Messire, will the capture of these felons be worth a broken back?"

At that le Pierre turned violently and spewed his guts on to the road. His mount reared, Tobin grabbed the reins, urging, with soothing voice and strength, the frightened animal back under control.

The band of riders halted, milled about unsure. In truth they had all drunk and eaten their fill at the abbey. They had expected a night of warm, pleasurably filled beds. The prospect of chasing through the forest in the dark hours suited none of them.

Le Pierre looked up, lightening struck a pain filled path across his brain, he swooned.

The sergeant huffed. Their lord may be a merciless, arrogant bastard, but he was still just a boy led by his cock. Tobin gave the order to return to the abbey. Let the lady abbess nurse her brother; he had no intention of doing it.

###

"How long should we hide?" Tom whispered to Blount.

"We're not hidin' boy, 'tis is a tactical contrivance to avoid an ill advised fight," the older man said with mock severity.

Sir Robert gave a short laugh. "Aye, 'tis that. We wait."

Haddie was getting cramp, she wanted to piss, but not in a thousand years would she make complaint.

The fearful noise returned, horses slower this time.

What had made them turn no one cared, they were no longer being pursued, _that_ was what mattered.

Still Sir Robert made them wait a good hour before rising himself and stretching his long limbs. "We will take the forest paths from here, set a respectable distance between us and the road." The knight turned to the other travellers, he grimaced and rubbed at his stiff knee. "Then we should be safe enough from discovery I think."

###

The trackways were twisting and uneven, sometimes just wide enough to let the waggon pass. Parts were steep and smooth as ice, but mercifully dry. All the men hauled and pushed to raise the cumbersome wain, Haddie hung on guiltily. She tried to get down to help, but was met with Sir Robert's immediate reproof, 'stay where you are woman, what earthly good do you think you would be?"

It seemed an eternity till at last they stopped in a small clearing. The knight and his sergeant surveyed the area and both declared it safe as could be.

Haddie pulled the coverlet tighter about her as she stood unsteadily. In other circumstances she would have noted and admired the rich cloth and fine workmanship, but now she saw it only as cover for her nakedness.

Smiling Blount held up his arms to assist Haddie down.

That was all it took, the kindly smile on his warrior's face. Haddie burst into tears, launched herself into his arms, hanging on to her drapery and weeping full sore. Try as she might, no coherent words formed, only stuttered half sounds, hiccups, and wails.

Blount, to his credit, just held her fast. He knew well enough that women were apt to need the simple refuge of a man's arms on occasion.

Sir Robert sniffed loudly and observed the dangerously slipping bed cover. _Christ's bones_ he did not need this. "Piers, your good hose and shirt, _now_."

The boy looked crestfallen; he was to give up his best clothes? But the choice was not his and reluctantly unpacked the required clothing. Sir Robert snatched them and advanced on the gradually calming Haddie.

"Here, let's see if you can stay dressed for a while shall we?" Sarcasm dripped from him.

Haddie froze for a second; a snarl curled her lip, then turned like a baited bitch. "By what right do you behave so?" With that she was howling and beating upon his chest. "You are-no better-than that monster le Pierre!"

The knight was taken aback, he'd saved the bloody woman, and now she was hitting _him_. He caught her pummelling fists and held them tight, his face too close to hers.

" _Be still!"_ He snapped with contempt and thrust the bundle of clothes at her chest. "There you harpy, again it appears you have need of my assistance." He bit out. "And madam," he bowed with a mocking flourish. " _Think nothing of it_."

Haddie sagged once more into Blount's arms. Tears now soft and silent.

###

"Sing to me Haddie, _please_." Tom yawned and snuggled closer into her lap. They had eaten, frugally but sufficient, and now settled for the night.

She gazed down sorrowfully at the tow-coloured head. She would never have her own son lay his head thus, ask for stories and songs. There were no more tears to be had, no more would come. Her heart belonged to this small motherless boy now. "What song would you like?"

"Sing Little Dove." He snuffled sleepily.

Haddie sighed, it was his favourite. Softly she breathed... _"Little dove, my sweeting...Little dove, my dear heart, my own one..."_ She pulled the costly coverlet over them, as she sang low.

The men sitting about the fire had fallen silent; they cast surreptitious glances at the woman and child, then at each other. None had much in the way of homes any more. No wives, children or mothers, but the sweet softness of her loving voice seemed to ease stiff joints, sooth harsh memories.

Blount had a distant look. Young Piers sniffed and rubbed sheepishly at his nose. Friar William was smiling, his eyes closed. The giant Jocelyn sat with his mouth open, in awe of the pure, quiet voice. All were drawn by her song.

All except Sir Robert.

He drank deep from his wine skin, rinsed his mouth, and spat. His eyes could not help but slide toward the peasant woman and her underfed child, scorn at her condition tempered only barely by his guilt. He stalked off into the darkened trees to piss.

The last thing he needed was such mawkish nonsense. Two days would see them at Beckford castle. There the Earl would have the gold sent by the Bishop, secrets would be kept and his task would be ended, his duty to Bishop Henry rendered and complete. He could petition the king for the restoration of his wife and son. Truly a separation from bed and board would be more preferable; he had no wish to be Marcillia's husband in more than name. Let her lover dance attendance on her; endure her inconstant heart and whorish ways. The King would see the right of it, Stephen was a fair man.

Returning to Sussex with his son, with a fortune well repaired, he could raise a goodly keep _and_ pay debts. Yes, life was going to settle, as long as the Bishop's dealings with the Empress stayed well hidden.

The fate of the woman and her child were the province of the worthy Friar, no doubt he had laudable plans in that direction.

The memory of the woman naked _again_ entered his thoughts. Naked and angry, why that should arouse him he knew not, but aroused he was. She was an irritant then, like a grain of sand under the hood of his cock. Women were a distraction he had learned to turn aside from. He had occasionally paid for relief on his travels, but no more than that. His lust for Marcillia had cost him dear. He would never be such a fool again.

At a moderate distance from the camp, he leaned a hand against a tree, unlaced his britches, groaned in annoyance at the rising hardness he felt there. _Damn the woman and her fat, milky tits!_ He thought savagely.

Cursing all plump arsed females for the devil's instruments they were, with a slow, burning dribble, he pissed.

###

 _Tom and the others sleep now, the thoughtful sergeant guards us, only he and me are wakeful._

 _The lording snores loudest of all, the lout. I should not have hit him, but even when I dressed in the squire's hose and shirt he scoffed and swore, stamped about as if this too caused him offence!_

 _Sergeant Blount is a better man by far, handsome too. He spoke of his wife, now there is a lucky woman. The knight though, fine-looking and well born as he may be, is not superior in compassion. But soon we will be done with him, Brother William says our destination is a castle, and he is certain there will be refuge for us there._


	11. Part 11

When Christ and his Angels Slept. Part 11

 _The company is almost at ease now; it seems with the danger behind us we have all become more tolerant, though Brother William is oft times over pious. Brother Jocelyn smiles and pulls faces when his superior is not looking. He and Tom are become accomplices in boyish pranks. Sargeant Blount and young Piers still have their guard about them, but even they joke and sit more comfortable on their mounts. Only the lordling stays stiff in his saddle, riding apart. I need to bathe again, though I shall have to look to more seclusion this time. I cannot but recall his crude attention. I still shiver at the memory when I feel his eyes upon me._

###

The village of Beckford was a sight Haddie thought never to see again. People bustled full of purpose, and all in seeming good humour. It appeared they had arrived on market day. Gaily draped booths lined the road, their owners called out for customers, touting their wares to any who might buy. Clusters of sturdy old houses sat comfortably about the castle walls.

All was...normal, as if the feuds of kings and empresses, the brutality of soldiers, was of another world.

A notion struck Haddie: Was this world for her, should she ever be entitled to a day's happiness, would that not be a betrayal of her dead child? Biting her lip, she watched with guilty, envious eyes as trusting maidens bargained for ribbons and petty trinkets. The smell of fresh bread and meat pies assaulted her senses.

Tom sat open mouthed beside her, the poor lamb had known little but want and tribulation for most of his short life."Shall we stay here Tom, what do you think?" Haddie asked.

"I think...I think this is heaven. We have died and gone to heaven."

Brother William sighed, smiling none the less. "The earl's eldest daughter is to be married. He has four girls and no sons. 'Tis a very good match and there will be great festivities. In these days of trouble there are few enough reasons for celebration, but this good fortune shows God has not forgotten us. By His grace; joy is still in the world."

As the friar spoke the sound of pipes and a tambor invaded the air, tumblers in their shabby finery, came cart wheeling past.

Sir Robert reined Cassius back and bent from his saddle. He spoke low to Brother William, his voice filled with disapproval. "Keep your wits about you; these vagabonds have the eyes of hawks. The last thing we need is to lose our consignment to casual thievery."

Haddie, alert only to the merry din, hugged Tom, eyes wide. "Oh lambkin, Jongleurs, there will be music, real music!"

Glancing up, Sir Robert saw the look of guileless excitement. It irked, and was worsened by the unaccustomed twist of pleasure it brought him.

The shameless, noisy band trailed past. Pots and pans clanked and clattered where they hung tied to the sides of their covered cart. The rickety wain bounced precariously over the rutted road.

"Can we walk a while brother, stretch our legs?" Haddie was giddy with the thrill of such lively normality, the shred of the real world without fear; a world of music and life.

"I see no reason why not my child." With that Haddie and Tom shuffled eagerly off the back of the waggon.

Robert said nothing, but watched them, face impassive, his eyes following Haddie.

Brother William caught the look. "I thought there to be no harm in it. We near the parting of the ways; surely they will be safe enough now?"

The knight raised an eyebrow. "You thought there no harm at the abbey Brother. Forgive me if I question your judgement." He accepted no guilt for the faulty decision. Eyeing Haddie's bottom, revealed as it was in the borrowed hose, he said. "She'll be tempting men to molest her again if she goes on displaying that arse."

In truth, Brother William had forgotten the boy's clothes she still wore. The specifics of women caused him deep confusion. "I have but a few pennies, what do womanly garments cost?"Robert couldn't help but smirk at the earnest priest speculating on the cost of a women's shift.

"I have some coin that should cover it." Urging his mount about, Robert called over his shoulder, "Make your way to the Keep, I'll follow."

Haddie fairly skipped through the throng of people. Like a child again, the adult part of her shut away. She revelled in the sights, smells, and the freedom. And then her eyes fell on the fine, emerald green kirtle that hung at front of the fripperer's booth. His merchandise consisted mostly of well worn, mended but serviceable clothing. Clearly this gown was his prize, the seams were finely sewn, the deep neckline and hem wrought with a darker green embroidery. Haddie fingered the silky ribboned lacings, stroked the nap, wondered at its softness. Once she had owned a gown almost as fine as this, once...

"How much?" From above her a deep, gravel rough voice spoke sharply to the trader.

The trader looked up, shaded his eyes against the sun and, judging his questioner to be, at the very least a knight, he answered with deference. "Five silver shillings m'lord, worth every penny. Made for a lady 'twas, but she died afore she could wear it, so it's new. Almost."

Robert laughed, knowing the price was excessive, his wife's gowns cost less, and Marcillia had favoured silks worked with silver. Reining in the impatient Cassius, and with an exasperated tone, he called to Haddie, tossing her three silver coins. "Here, bargain him down and don't waste my money. Clothe yourself and come to the castle kitchens. Brother William should have your future arranged by then."

Haddie was bewildered. His generosity was perverse, he was perverse! And men knew nothing, the gown might be had for three silver pennies, but there would be naught left for a shift, or kerchief and apron, and nothing at all for Tom. Dismissing the knight's ill judged instruction, Haddie searched the heaps of darned linens for what they needed. She found a serviceable dun coloured kirtle, it's coarse, thick fabric should see her through many a winter, and it's dull shapelessness would serve as shield against the judgment of the others. "What price for this?"

"Yer master wanted you in the green gown." The trader said crossly. He thought he'd made a sale, for less than he wanted, true, but a sale is a sale. Now the ungrateful wench was robbing him.

"He is not my master," Haddie mumbled as she thrust her selection into the man's arms. "Still, he'd not take kindly if you try and cheat me on what I _do_ buy." She told herself the lordling wouldn't care one way or another. "Take it or leave it man, there are other dealers will sell me what I want."Minutes later, she and Tom emerged from behind the booth, newly clothed and presentable.

###

Earl Turold was a jovial man, even more so now his eldest daughter was about to marry a nephew to the earl of Chester. T'was a good connection, but allegiances had a habit of changing abruptly in these uncertain days. Now Stephen, now Matilda. Who could tell what the months would bring?

The good families of the county had all turned out for the wedding, and now his wife was about herself with pride. And, as if to compound his good fortune, Bishop Henry had kept his word and paid in gold for Turold's part in the secret negotiations with the Empress. The Bishop was a perilous man to deal with, subtle, with sight into the heart of men that left no secrets secure. But serve him well, and the rewards were bountiful. The gold and his daughter's splendid match bore witness to that.

So good was his mood, that the earl decided to invite the Bishop's man to the wedding feast. Though he doubted the road stained knight would do naught but get drunk, maybe swive a kitchen wench and be on his way. "There then, all is done and well done too. I congratulate the Bishop on his choice of company." Watching the bags of gold being packed into his strong box, he turned to Sir Robert. "Well, de Renouf, will you stay for the feasting? I should be honoured to have you as a guest." Turold also knew to be in possession of 'friends' of Sir Robert kind could not harm at all.

Eager to be on his way as Robert was, he was also travel sore, good food, wine and a bed would not go amiss. The King would be at Winchester for a month, one night would do no harm. Looking down from the earls keep to the castle ward, he noticed the two friars stood with a dowdy wench, a timid boy child tight at her side. By God! The defiant mare had not bought the dress he paid for. Why not? She obviously wanted it, did she have to be contrary in everything?

"It would be a great honour my lord." Robert bowed, making his exit with courtly politeness, then stormed down the stairs and out into the yard below.

###

Robert advanced on Haddie, bellowing, "I gave you good coin to buy what you desired and yet this is what you get," he waved dismissively at the rough textured dress. "A flea ridden old blanket. Ungrateful slattern, do you do this just to provoke me?" Knowing the stupidity of what he said did nothing to temper his irritation.

Haddie was astounded. "But I bought wisely, see." She held out her hand, an unused penny lay there.

The coin rebuked him, she was not Marcillia. _She_ was not like any woman he had ever known. But that insight only served to rile him more. How dare a worthless slut cause him such a havoc of sentiment! She would learn do as she was told one way or another. "Wait here!"

Robert stalked away, leaving Haddie bemused. "What did I do wrong? I have dressed us well. Does he think I do not owe him enough?" Haddie asked no one in particular."

"Oh, Sir Robert just wanted to see you in a pretty gown." Brother Jocelyn tried to hide a giggle with his hand.

"Hush Jocelyn." Brother William cleared his throat. "Sir Robert is...mistrustful of women by his...experience. He has been wronged." The friar hesitated, reluctant to disclose the knight's personal concerns. "You must allow him some..."

Haddie interrupted. _"I allow him nothing._ He leaves me in his debt over and over, then berates me when I try to lessen that debt!" She was at a loss, the man made her belly tight, she could not think if it were anger or...well she did not want to think of it if truth be told. But she would never let gratitude make her a possession again. Ignoring Brother William's plea for forbearance, Haddie herself strode off in the opposite direction, determined to prove herself without need of such as he.

###

The bone dry courtyard had a dusty haze kicked up by busy feet. All around industrious folk bustled. The jongleurs had set their goods about. Brightly painted, battered instruments lay in a heap; yards of disordered, painted cloth in mounds beside their waggon. Inside the castle the confusion was no less; the kitchen was a riotous inferno. Honey-sweet smells joined the aromatic maelstrom of roasting meat, rendering fat and human perspiration. The grind and clang of the turning spits competing with shouted instructions, clattering pots, cries of abuse.

It was enough to split the very ears of God.

###

When Sir Robert returned, his anger had swelled. He had paid twice, and the value of the original dress was greatly inflated by his interest. The fripperer had sniggered at the noble knight foolish enough to let a woman get the better of him. And then, when he returned, the damn woman had wandered away!

Haddie was hauling a full bucket from the well when he found her. Snatching the overflowing pail from her, he thrust the bundle of cloth into her arms. "This is what you will wear till I tell you otherwise."

Haddie pulled back, he was huge. There was no denying it: He was intimidating.

"You can fool others, conducting yourself the way you do, but not me. I see the harlot in you." He seethed. "Put it on... _now."_

Haddie was awash with every passion she had ever known, fear, doubt, lust, longing. But her wits could not, or would not, direct her. "Now?" was all she said.

 _"Now."_ He left her, tossing the full bucket angily aside as he went.

If he had pulled her to a secluded corner to have his way with her at that moment, she would have fallen upon him, seized from him the satisfaction her body burned for. Hew had always gratified his own needs, never considering she had any, so she had learned the lonely sin, It had given her a small, secret victory over her situation. And now this arrogant knight made her body whine with need. Bunching her skirts, she ran to the barn, to the empty stall where she had made a comfortable, private nest for her and Tom. Wriggling, she twisted herself out of one dress, and into another. And the other fitted so well. Tightening the lacing, she pulled her shift up so it covered her breasts decently.

"My, but that's a dainty thing!" A woman's voice caught her. "You'll look very fine when you sing with us."

"What, who are you?"

The woman, clad in gaudily patched finery, leaned against the stall post. "We're short a voice, Brother William says you sing well. The pay is a farthing, no more. But if you're good maybe..."You'll pay me to sing?"

Haddie was aghast, never had she been given money for anything, Hew had not even allowed her sell the surfeit of her hens lay.

"Should I have kept my mouth shut?" the woman laughed. "I'm Edith. I eat fire, dance and sing. My man is Jacques; he leads us and is the best musician you'll find on these shores." Edith took it upon herself to tighten the kirtle's lacing and re-adjust the position of Haddie's shift, allowing more breast to be seen. "The men like to see a pair of heaving paps. We break their hearts with our sweet words and harmonies, and knock their eyes out with what their wives keep hidden." Edith winked and laughed as she smoothed the fabric at Haddie's waist. "The colour is yours and no mistake." She stood back, to admire her work. "Ah, you'll do, now we practise."

With that Haddie was hauled away, and she allowed it, reasoning that if she were performing Sir Robert would be out of reach. The temptation he threatened would be far enough away, she would be in the only place she felt safe, amid other voices.

###

 _Am I mad? I have not sung with others for so long, what if I cannot keep time, what if my voice fails me? I know the songs well enough, though they are not devout, or even chaste. Beloved sister Gertrud was very fond of such ballads, she taught us many. Mother Berthé indulged her with motherly affection. Of course HE will disapprove. HE will berate me for my shallowness. Oh, sweet revenge it would be to fight him, to pummel and wound him, sink my teeth into his arrogant flesh. Aye, I am mad._


	12. Part 12

While Christ and his Angels Slept. Part 12

 _Everywhere I see plenty and untroubled order, while our village has nothing but want and fear. How can this be?_

 _We are in a world full of wonders, a different world, the world of my childhood. But how can I trust that what I see here will not darken into deadly chaos in a moment?_

 _Lord, why do I want to run and hide from what is good?_

 _NO...I must have faith, I have to believe it is God's plan._

 _I have obligation to the Jongleurs, I must hold to that. And they are more able singers than I supposed, I must show myself worthy._

 _Pleasure I distantly remember, invades me, heats my blood, makes my skin prickle, and doubt leaves me._

 _The thrill of music is pure joy._

 _Perhaps Tom is right, this is Heaven?_

###

Resting his back against the wide oak staves of the bath, Robert unwrapped his precious block of Aleppo soap. Bought in Antioch, it had been a gift for his faithful, loving wife Marcillia. Of course she had been none of those things during his exile. But having survived the long journey home, and the two years he had spent as Bishop Henry's envoy, the precious soap was not wasted. Rob found he enjoyed the luxury of bathing with it, how it bore away the everyday stink of horse and sweat, leaving him cleaner than mere water and sand could scour, was strangely pleasing.

Taking his ease, Rob considered the skirmish at the abbey; it had been foolish. Nevertheless on occasion he let his conscience get the better of him, a failing he tried to correct. But now he must think on the vagaries of the king. Bishop Henry's advice had been to appeal to Stephen's notions of family. Though a man of strong passions, he was also a devoted husband and father. The Bishop had counselled that, to see a penitent return from the Holy Land cleansed of his sin, only to find his family lost to him, would strike the Kings heart.

Rob trusted his master's judgement, others may see the Bishop as more an arrogant intriguer than man of God, but he had seen the feats of negotiation, the subtle art of statesmanship the man employed. Henry of Blois was a good man, given less to pride and avarice than many of his ecclesiastical brethren.

Dipping his head under the water, Rob scrubbed the soap into his grimy, bedraggled hair.

No, Marcillia would remain his wife, but never in his home and certainly not in his bed. He was putting her from him, the law would permit no other marriage. They were tied till one of them died, but there were more than enough nunneries for her to end her days in. The debauched Abbess and her base establishment would suit Marcillia well; she would no doubt find herself very comfortable amid her fellow whores.

Which thought brought him back to the peasant woman. He had been steadfast in refusing to acknowledge she had a name, to admit it would afford her more importance than she warranted. But still her form sidled quietly into his head. Thoughts meandering, he considered how soft her skin might be, would it be improved after using his soap? Sliding the green tablet down his chest, he wondered how it would feel to guide it over her full breasts.

He didn't want to study his reason for buying the dress, letting your cock rule your head was a thing young men and old lechers did, he was not so young, nor so old as to let that happen again.

Unmindful, his right hand slipped down, coming to rest over that hardening, defiant organ between his legs. For a moment he stilled, denying himself release.

"Christ's mouldering bones!" he snatched his hand up and plunged himself beneath the water again, only resurface with equal vigour. He controlled his wants and needs, not some pathetic slattern.

Banishing her from his mind he continued his ablutions with assiduous care.

Piers shaved his master, melting the beard from untidy thatch, to closely neat and fashionable. Then trimmed unkempt hair, and though not the custom, combed it smoothly back.

Wearing his fine blue bliaut, Rob quitted the makeshift bath house. Boots cleaned and free of scuffs, sword belt oiled, dagger polished. Sir Robert looked every inch a courtier, at least to provincial eyes. There was no wonder that many a female gaze followed him. Tall and well built, handsome and self-possessed, he cut a compelling figure among the portly gentry and their unimpressive sons.

Rob washed his hands in the bowl offered by a young squire; bowed politely to the Earl and his family, and joined Brother William at the board. The two men ate in silence. Piers served them as he was taught; he would eat later, in the kitchens with the rest of their little band.

But regardless of the bountiful food and wine, Robert was not at ease, the costly damask of his coat still had the stiffness of infrequent wear. He found himself continually pulling at the chafe of the collar. To add to his disquiet, the goodwife to his left had made her interest known with sly smiles and significant winks.

Good God, were all women the same?

###

In the uncertain privacy of the player's waggon, Haddie washed as best she could. Cleaning away the last evidence of La Pierre's leavings, her plan to kill the viperous brute had been foolish, but his death would be hers. Though first she must look to Tom's future. Patience and careful thought would give her what she needed.

But still the mocking ghost of the lordling whispered in her ear. 'What right did a mere peasant have to revenge?'

The bucket was not sufficient for its job, yet Haddie scrubbed with renewed will. By the time she reached her feet the water was a murky brown soup. The stream would have been preferable; the flow of cool clear water would have cleansed the foul taint from her body. But that would wait, tonight she would indulge herself. Dressing and binding up her hair, Haddie climbed down from the waggon. She glanced about her, and sure no one looked, spat three times in the dirt. It warded off the devils host, or so Sister Gertrude said.

###

"Your hair will need to be down, like a maid, another subtlety the men like." Edith tugged Haddie's carefully arranged kerchief off.

Around them the players talked, joked, jostled, showed each other dance steps. Haddie looked from their dainty shoes, to her bare feet and sighed. Edith laughed and told her the gapers rarely looked at feet when there was so much else to distract them!

Soon she found herself laughing, joining in the practice dancing. When a cup of wine was passed around she sipped, to stay the addling of her wits that was coming fast upon her.

"Come now my song birds, we are needed!" Jacques clapped his hands, calling them all to silence. He was a small man; thin as a wraith, but with a voice as deep as a river. "Now, my own ones, I'm wanting the best as usual. The absence of Elin be a cryin' shame, but that bairn of hers will be born before the morn, an' naught 'll stop it." Elegantly he motioned to Haddie. "Take my hand, my lady."

She looked at the others for direction, and Edith thrust her forward.

"And the lovely Hadwise will agreeably fill the void." He kissed her knuckles, and abruptly swung her out into the great hall. "Off you go me sweet dulcet darlin's, earn your dinners..."

###

The noise in the hall had dulled to a low rumble in deference to Earl Turold. His 'honoured father' speech had praised his new son-in-law, the boy's illustrious family, his daughter's virtue, and the weather. No mention of King Stephen, Empress, or even Bishop Henry. Turold was a sensible man, he may well deal quietly in politics, openly showing undue partiality with one of the warring factions, well there lay a game for fools. A man might as well stake his life on a bout of pitch and toss.

"And now we have entertainment!" The earl clapped his hands and waved toward the band of pretty singers. "Songs of virtuous ladies and noble knights, and then..." he bowed with a gracious flourish. "I'm sure the dancing will start!"

Rob groaned, the smiling goodwife had, most unladylike, groped his arse. Even his most surly looks could not seem to dissuade her; she would expect him to dance the Carole with her. He was no dancer, and no more a pursuer of women than the goodwife was an alluring temptress.

At his back Piers covered his grin, Sir Robert looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Brother William, unaware of the exchange, had his mind involved in assembling a plan to secure a home for Haddie and Tom. The Jongleurs had expressed an interest, and that would not do at all. He decided to talk again to the laundress.

Haddie twirled as they had practiced, turning full about, allowing skirts to billow attractively, offering glimpses of shapely calves. Lustrous curls bounced and flew about exposed shoulders.

Lightheaded and stirred by the music she looked about for the knight, but in the confusion of faces before her, he was hidden.

The pace of the song was slower than she remembered, but the guests hushed as the small group of women swirled and curled in time to the infectious stir of lute and pipes. Edith began the refrain; Haddie followed three beats after, then the next singer, and the next. Till all raised their voices to the glory of heavenly love, and the partiality of poor sinners to the Earthly kind.

The audience loved it, roaring at the hint of sinful deeds; all dressed as devotional acts, clapping furiously at the double intent.

Haddie could not help the agitation her body felt; perhaps the few sips of wine had been more potent than she believed? As she moved with dance and song, years of empty misery fell from her.

This was why she endured; the joy passed all she could describe.

###

People flowed about the castle ward, guests, soldiers, servants, and pedlars, all untouched by the world of rebellion, betrayal, and bad blood.

Tobin's gait was casual, as if he had every right to be there. A self serving man, working for those who paid the best. To be fair, for their money they got a tolerable measure of his loyalty, more importantly, they bought his sword, which he employed with fervour.

Presently he was in the service of Sir Andreas le Pierre, who in turn served the Count of Casals. The way of it was that every man served another, whether that allegiance was bought by coin or owed by fealty, it mattered not. But if a poor man used his loaf, he too could become a rich one.

It was Tobin's intent to become very rich.

Sir Andreas, his present employer, was a disinherited knight whose fortunes rose and fell with the overlord he had allied himself to. The claim that he was restoring his family destiny was an illusion, the man was nought more than a reaver. Pillage and its spoils were all his aim, and his men took his lead.

And hence Tobin, after some careful tracking, was here, following the Bishop's man, and thus the bishop's gold. 'T was simple; too simple it seemed to him.

Watching the capering gypsies his mind wandered to more commonplace matters, such as his missed night of indulgence at the abbey. The quivering arses and swinging, silken hair had set his cock to twitching.

Aye, there was diversion here, and a little indulgence was no bad thing.

###

When Rob saw Haddie his first reaction was to stare, then look about him angrily, wary that other men saw what he did. The dress was a grievous error; the simple colour made her stand out from the gaudy costumes of the other women. It clung to her breasts and hips, caught between her thighs as she moved. Her mass of dark hair swung, brazenly free. Holy Christ, she may as well be inviting men in!

The amorous matron at his side saw his attention caught by the performers. Pouting, she shifted the veil that covered her bosom till it covered little, but revealed much.

At last Haddie saw him, he looked...different. His customary sour expression was there, but head and shoulders above those about him, he was handsome, dressed like a prince. In that moment the devil took her; she smiled, blew sultry kisses to him.

Rob snarled. He had saved her from starvation on the road, rescued her from God knows what in the Abbey, brought her to safety, clothed her even. In return the strumpet interfered with his commission, mocked and disobeyed him, and now flaunted herself shamelessly! Abruptly he turned from the sight of her...back to the ardent attention of the Mercers widow. In a thoughtless second he offered up his cup to the coyly smiling woman, she took it and sipped with genteel care, fluttered her lashes and returned it. Rob knew his part in this discreet sport, but instead of just sipping, quaffed the contents down in one swallow, the inference clear.

The widow tittered, dabbed at her lips, and wiggled closer. A robust, good looking man like this was a rarity, she would have him, be marriage involved or not.

Haddie saw the exchange and winced. Of course he could have any woman he wanted, why would he waste his time on someone like her?

As the song ended Edith caught her about the waist and whispered in her ear, "Lily Flower, sung at faster time, follow my lead, do as I do."

Now they danced in pairs, dipping and circling each other. This song was darting, playful. Haddie bounced upon her toes and regretted her lack of shoes; the stone flags of the great hall were unforgiving.

###

Rob swiftly lamented his manful display, the widow stroked his thigh, offered him the choicest morsels from her trencher. His avowal of polite indifference benefited him not one wit. The lady was relentless, in no time she had her hand in his breeches, apparently believing the sturdy salute she found there was for her. Rob retreated into his cups, resolving to blot out women in general.

Brother William eventually noticed.

"I see you are admired Sir Robert; I trust you will vouchsafe your wedded state to the lady?" The friar said in a quiet aside, he had watched the players at their folly and was torn by beauty of the music, and vulgarity of songs. He had begun to doubt the wisdom of his intervention on behalf of Hadwise. She may be more educated than he had thought, but she was still a naïve young woman, susceptible to the low morals and lack of chastity he knew to be the player's common state. Now the knight seemed to be arranging a dalliance of his own.

How he feared for the souls of his fellow travellers.

"If you would free me from her company brother, I would be eternally grateful." Rob whispered drearily to the disapproving cleric, then turned and smiled in thanks for the large slice of beef the widow had attentively laid before him.

Brother William compressed his lips to contain his smile. This he could do, he motioned to Piers. "Your master needs to extricate himself, come to him directly, tell him he is needed in the stables. And do not allow the goodwife next to him hinder his leaving." It was a minor deception; he would ask God's forgiveness in his prayers at Lauds.

Swaying a little as he walked from the board, Rob unfastened his jerkin, pulling loose the ties, breathing easier.

He had not been tempted by the amorous widow. True, he had been long without the touch and company of a woman, but not a man for soft words and fawning gestures, the role of paramour was not his. When he wanted a woman he took a whore, when the business was successfully concluded, he paid and left. It was simple, required little thought or effort, and thus suited him.

To add to which he did not even desire the damn widow. But his head was not so befuddled that he did not know where his feet had led him. Stepping through the bustling kitchens out into the courtyard, 'she' was there.

The spirited music from the festivities could be plainly heard. The dancing had begun; the singers now filled their bellies. Tom held a pasty in one hand as he and Haddie laughed and whirled in a merry dance. The idle among the servants congregated with Brother Jocelyn, the singers, even Blount, clapping the romping pair. Rob leaned against the door frame, watching and cursing his rebellious parts.

With no warning the good natured air curdled, a leering man-at-arms boldly seized Haddie, attempting to kiss and manhandle her. Before Rob could push himself forward, Blount and the giant friar had pulled the protesting ruffian aside.

A furious Haddie slapped the man hard, throwing insults at him even as he was hauled past Sir Robert. She made to followed them, only for Rob to block her way.

Holding her back he growled low, "Leave them, Blount will set him a'right."

Haddie glared at him, fought to ease her breath as she met his heated gaze. With compelling certainty she knew how this irritation must be cooled, passions despairing; she reached up and pulled him into a kiss.

A kiss so crazed he caught the back of her head, held her to him as he served her greedy mouth.

Still pulsing from the fierce embrace, Haddie wrenched free...and ran.

Rob gritted his teeth, and leant back against the wall.

Hell's teeth, he wanted her.

 _###_

 _What have I done?_


	13. Chapter 13

Part 13

 _He is naught but a proud and pretty knave.  
'La dame Coquette' looked at him, all cow eyed and simpering, and he offered her his cup! Oh, and she sipped with such gentility, and all the while ogling him as if she would drink him down too._

 _When he, in turn, drained the dregs, it was plain as day, he would take all she offered!_

 _How am I so full of jealousy?_ _Fool that I am, to close my eyes is to invite such thoughts of him...his big hands toying with my breasts._

 _The taste of him was too swift, his lips not tender._

 _Yet what do I know of tenderness?_

 _Oh, how I hate him._

###

In her ire, Haddie caught the ribboned lacing of the dress. It knotted, she stamped, cursing all the Devil's wiles that caused her to wear it. Writhing till it was over her head, she tossed the blighted gown into a corner.

"Ho there woman, I paid honest coin for that!"

She should have been startled, but was not. "Then, be you so fond of it, take it back." Her tone defiantly light. "Wear it. _I_ _care not_."

"You looked very fine in it." Ignoring her words, he glanced at the gown, then tilting his head to her, smirked. "Even finer out."

 _"Oh, get you gone, go swive the rich dame you courted."_ Haddie snapped, but kept her eyes from his.

Robert chuckled; he'd drunk too much and would, no doubt, regret his actions in the morning. But by the Lord of Heaven, she roused and riled him. Stepping too near for modest conversation, he whispered, "show yourself to me."

"No." It was the retort of a sulky child; she turned her back on him.

"Oh, you want to." The words were as sure as the hands that stroked over her shoulders. Hard calluses rasped skin, causing her to shiver. She hardly noticed the fabric of her shift move, till a breast was bared, then both, then it was about her waist.

She was lost, and knew it to be her own doing.

Looking down at her, Rob marvelled that a peasant woman could have such delicate skin, such exceptional... _No_ ; t'would be but a futter. To admire a woman's complexion betokened something more than a hearty tumble.

"I hate you." She twisted from his reach, but her treacherous body was already daring her into lustful error.

"How now little bird, you think that of any consequence?"

How could his voice be so beguiling, yet he so pitiless? Still she did not move away.

Rob caught a ripe breast in his palm, lifted and squeezed. He was out of practice at seduction, but in truth this was no wooing, t'was swiving, and that was but an act of relief and, as all women were deceivers, that judgement should make the rest easy. Except this woman fired him, and _never_ was she easy.

Standing more than a full head taller than she, he stooped awkwardly; drew her face to his. Graceless as it was, his kiss invited, held promises she could not forswear. It was not her intent to cling to him; still her arms were about his neck, drawing her up to meet his hard embrace. The sound she made dismayed her, a whining sigh, shamefully weak and unseemly.

"Lay down." He spoke again, voice as rough as gravel.

"No." She groaned, as his mouth grazed her throat.

"Shall we stand then," he hoisted her up, her legs about him. "...like an alley whore and her customer?"

"Wretched dog, do not mock me." Haddie moaned into his ear, then grazed the lobe with her teeth; she felt his chest vibrate as he laughed low, and she bit him.

"Oh, there she is, my pretty vixen." He edged her back, closing her against the wooden stall. "Now little witch, show me your hate."

Half resenting, half desperate, Haddie crushed her open mouth to his, dragged her teeth over his lip, licked at his jaw.

Rob threw his head back, let her. Never in his life had he been set about by a woman. Marcillia had lain as if dead in their infrequent adolescent coupling. Any harlot of his acquaintance served him as she were bid. A man of a solitary inclination, he was not overly fond of the notion of kissing, it seemed too intimate, too close to affection. But this was different; everything this woman did incited his loins, made the blood thunder in his ears. She provoked such violence in his heart that he wanted to...well, he scarce knew what he wanted, her under him, on top of him, it troubled him not. So he held her fast, unwilling to part with the smell, the taste of her.

And thus it was a tussle betwixt them, each sought to pleasure themselves with the others body. No victor prevailed, the hungry assaults needed none.

Rob struggled to hold her against the slatted wood, but the mix of wine and the pull on his old wound caused him to falter. "We must lay down," he swayed. "...afore I fall." And, with little ceremony, landed them both in the hay. "Damnit woman, you leave me wheezing like an old man!" He held himself off her, the strain left him begging.

Winded, Haddie almost choked as she laughed. All cares and fears were as nothing. Only a few days before he'd treated her no better than a serf. She scorned and cursed him in equal measure, _and she did not care._ The lordling wanted her, all his bad temper, his foul behaviour meant nothing. If he itched and demanded she scratch, she was more than willing.

Her amusment riled him more. Pushing himself upright and unlacing his britches, he fumbled and cursed, fairly ripped the offending garment open. The drink may have made him rash, but it had not robbed him of his vigour. He held his thickening cock, directing it into her, pushing deep. Then suddenly stopped, drew out, breathing shallow. "I'll not spill in you, never fear." Like a gleeful child espying sweetmeats for the taking, he bent and licked, suckled at a swelling nipple.

Haddie groaned, eyes closed; gave herself up to it.

The wine had taken its toll, coarse words flowed as he thrust, urging himself onward. "Ah, see...how your cunny...enjoys me..." Panting, he drove forward again, filling her, rocked back, face contorted in pleasure. 

She squirmed against him, trying to catch that distant feeling she knew was within reach, if only...

"Enjoying that little chick?" his hips collided with her thighs and he brought her knees up to his shoulders. "You like the feel of me in you?"

What could she answer; did he even want an answer? Haddie was jarred; had no relief, no recompense for her part.

With a great gasping cry, the muscles of his shoulders and throat, cording. He stilled, then withdrew, spilt his seed on her belly. "Whoa...but that was pleasing." He rolled off her, sighing expansively. "You are still tight." Taking his ease, he rested, the thick straw was warm and sweet smelling, and with careless curiosity said, "...did your husband _never_ fuck you?"

Haddie turned her glare from him to the rafters.

Rob yawned; women's ways were never to be understood. Closing his eyes, a soft snore escaping him as he settled, a satisfied man.

###

The villain _slept!_

She had wanted him, wanted what he could give her, and had been so near. The elegant braiding of his jerkin grazed her, the bright silver aiglets of the lacings, caught, and pinched the tender skin. Precious little was hers from the exchange, save the guilt of her latest sin, and a body scraped and bruised. Discontent, an empty ache in her loins, served to enflame her grievance.

Restlessly, she slipped her hand between her thighs, brushing the hardening little nub. Her body, answering of its own accord, shuddered. Try as she might to make no sound, she could not curb the flexing of her belly. An inward hiss escaped her as the wave built; delight was within her reach... 

Rob turned beside her, grumbling sleepily, "cease your twitching woman..." His arm circled her waist to pull her close, but encountered her busy hand. Awake suddenly, he heft himself up to face her. "You pleasure yourself?" Indignation turned swiftly to sly and lewd interest.

Haddie was shamed, but her aim was at hand, she had no will to stop.

"Here, I'll aid you." Pushing his big hand over hers, he rubbed with fervour. 

Haddie jolted away from him. "Nay...too hard, too hard!" In the cover of their dark corner, she seized her confidence. "It must be softly done," stroked his knuckles delicately in demonstration. "The lightest of touches."

"I have fucked a woman before!" He growled sulkily, shifting his position.

"Aye, with little skill." She was as irritated as he. "And you talk too much."

 _"Little skill, talk too much?"_ He sat up, peeved, tried to push her onto her knees. "'I'll show you how well I fuck."

But Haddie would not allow it, wriggled away from him. "No, only if you have a care, see me to my pleasure."

Robert swallowed hard. The heat of her skin, her voice, her words, the very smell of her...all had his vitals coiled tight again. But he wanted a greater reward this time, more than mere seconds of delight. Oh no, he wanted to watch her, watch the Hell cat who'd cursed and railed at him, have her whine and whimper, then purr and curl against him. "Softly then." He gritted his teeth, and slid abrasive fingers back as slowly as he could. "You're ready; I can feel your sap." His grudging words muffled as his teeth scraped at her neck.

Haddie moved against his stroke, circled her hips at his touch, it pleased them both. Rob nipped her ear and ground his hardened rod at her behind. But Haddie needed more, pulling away, she turned, shifting the big man onto his back. Then she was straddling him.

Rob took the reversal of positions in part, hooked his hand about her neck, pulled her to a deep, greedy kiss.

She looked glorious, the dark, witchling halo of her hair, spiked with straw, full tits bouncing temptingly before him, what man would deny himself this?

Then, with lips parted in expectation, she lowered herself onto him, rolling her hips, arching her back as a fresh wave of sensation took her. She writhed, rode him, did not hinder his hands in their ruthless exploration of her breasts.

When she shuddered and howled out her pleasure, Rob knew he was bound for Hell.

The sounds of unruly mating agitated the beast in their stalls, horses snickered and kicked, the disorder clamour of the wedding feast echoed outside. Life went on.

###

Leaning casually in a shadow masked corner, Tobin listened to the noisome pair. Nursing a severely damaged pride, bruised jaw, and an ache in his side that could mean a broken bone, he scowled. It should have been his cock getting wet in the wench, not the troublesome hearth knight.

Always a man who looked to find the sanguine in failure, he could enjoy the show, and perhaps embellish the retelling to stoke up his masters wrath to goodly proportions.

The stallion knight obviously grew impatient with his rider; he swung the woman onto her knees, pinioning her from behind.

Tobin grinned and eased his hand into his britches.

### 

Haddie objected not one wit to the new position, she was beyond caring. This was what she had sought for so long, if she would only have this once, it would be glorious. If she were nevermore bedded, or touched, she had this, and she could live on this.

Rob filled her, again and again, it was madness he was sure, his mind was ablaze with earthy possibilities. Swiping at her cunny, he brought fingers to her mouth. "Taste what you have, taste your sap." To his delight, she sucked, and he came, a burst so strong he could not have withdrawn if he'd wanted to.

Haddie squirmed back, jerked as another climax took her. No thought entered her head as her teeth came down hard on his hand.

Never had he felt like this, never had he come with such ferocity, she had  
drained his stones, and he was still gripped tight within her. Dragging his open mouth down her neck, he sucked, leaving purple marks of their lust across her shoulders. "You will kill me, woman. I'd swear I am still hard."  
"Nay sir knight, I feel you slip from me now." She turned, falling beneath him, laughing to his face. She felt bone weary, but foolishly content.

Robert settled back on his heels, cuffed his mouth, shook the sting from his injury. "Your teeth are murderous!" he pulled open the dangling silken cord at his chest "Give me time to catch my breath, and another bout will serve me well." The fine jerkin was tossed aside, his shirt joined it. "Help me." He struggled to tug off his boots.

Haddie shuffled round and took hold of a heel.

"No, stand astride and pull."

She did as bidden, almost toppling forward.

"I see you need tutoring in undressing a man." Robert chuckled. The sight of her full arse, scoured red and stuck all over with straw, amused him, roused him more.

"What I be tutored in, is none of your concern." She said, tossing his boots aside.

"Ah, but 'tis my sweet sparrow..."he hauled her back down on top of him, teasingly nipping at her breasts. "I would have you as my plaything." He laughed, and ground his softening cock against her belly. Rob was disconcerted; this was a lightness he was unacquainted with. "God's bones but no woman has ever made me this lustful."

"You've been without too long is all. And I am a free woman, not your slave." Half heartedly she wriggle from him.

He drew her back, rubbing his rough chin at the crook of her shoulder. Haddie sighed, in truth her body was sore, she too had been without, without so much. She found she did not want to contemplate parting from her arrogant lordling.

###

Tobin spat in the dirt as he sidled out into the courtyard. He'd seen enough to know this was the woman who baited and beat Messire La Pierre. A dark and lustful gypsy by the look of her. Who could blame the boy if he wanted her back?

###

 _Now it is done. All Hew's accusations must have been true, I am a whore, an evil temptation to men. But it was good, how can it be such a sin if God gave us the parts and desires to begin with?_ _  
_ _I will go to the castles priest, he will confess me and I will promise not to sin so again. But as 'he' goes his way and I go mine there will be no opportunity, thus no temptation._ _  
_ _I will be free of all of it._


	14. Chapter 14

SPARROWS 14

 _I will not regret it, how can I when my body still thrills at the thought of his hands! When Hew claimed his marriage due, it was as if he punished me for his need. Any pleasure that came my way was soon crushed from me with curses and blows. But this...this is as if the empty years have faded into nothing._

 _So, here I am unbound, loose in a world I do not know, the lordling will go his way, I mine, never will we again meet. He will take back his son, live in his fine home,_ _find a pliable woman to keep him warm at night...and I? I will live on._

 _Hmm, I must wash, men are such dirty beasts._

It was morn; the sun not yet risen, but the sounds of people about the business of the day, edged out the disquieting thoughts.

A warm, comfortable cage of muscular limbs held Haddie, she was loath to free herself from its luxury, but inevitability that he would wake, curse his mistakes, perhaps even name her whore to all, made up her mind.

She moved with care, sliding free of him, found her shift, and brushed the brown, work-a-day kirtle clean, shrugged them over her head. Careful though she was, with limbs so stiff, her cunny raw and stinging, movement cost her. It seemed to Haddie that he had mounted her a dozen times, played such games with her senses that she hardly knew what they had done. Oh, and in his bullish way had, most assuredly, shown her Heaven. Now he lay naked on his belly, deep in sleep, red scratches on his back, raised gouges on his buttocks. She had marked him well, a day's ride would cost that arse dear.

Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a soft laugh at the thought. _To you sir knight, to you!_

Mood lightened, she stepped lightly out into her day.

###

"Well, 'in't you looking fine on it?' The castle's laundress, mistress Jennet, greeted her with a knowing grin.

Haddie blushed, turned sheepishly. Had _all_ heard them?

The washerwoman smirked. "Be needin' a good scrub I'd say. All that 'eaving 'an scrapping about the floor, leaves a person powerful mucky." Jennet winked, nodding toward the barn. "Mind 'is face were a pretty picture."

"Who's face?" Haddie feigned ignorance.

"Yer knight, who else? When that filthy lout grab ye, 'yer man looked fair fit t' bust. Then you kisses 'im an' runs off, thought he were gonna do murder, I did."

Haddie bit back a smile; the thought of his outrage pleased her.

The two women grinned at each other, shared their scorn at the buffoonery of men and their lust.

In a corner curtained by dripping sheets, Haddie stripped and washed herself. Cold water stung her grazed flesh. She wiped between her legs, he _had_ spilled in her. Men!

But Haddie knew she would not conceive. In all her years with Hew only once had a child brewed in her womb.

Thoughts of the babe who followed his father to the grave swung her back to closer matters. Andreas le Pierre would pay for his evil, she would have her vengeance and his life. Find him, kill him; sink a blade into his malignant heart. The thoughts warmed her as she plaited her hair.

A plan, she had to have a plan.

###

The morning was advancing, less important wedding guests still slept about the place in nooks and crannies. Dogs fought over scraps of forgotten meats, cats lapped delicately at spilled niceties. At Lauds confusion ruled, by the sext bells, the sun was at its height and chaos was moulded, once more, into order. Servants would eat bread and cheese and return to their habitual duties, all evidence of the riotous wedding feasting would be gone.

###

Sir Robert shrugged his battered leather jerkin over his shirt, the straw covered finery carefully dusted and stowed by Piers. Now all that was left was the stowing of the cart for their return to London...and the woman.

She had kindled something in him he thought extinguished, the notion of surrendering her left him more irritable that was usual.

'Twas not the futtering alone he would miss, but all of her. The stinging provocation in her looks and words teased his gut, and now he knew the full promise of her body, to give it up seemed foolish indeed. He was sure a place could be found for her in his hall, mayhap as his son's nurse, or dairy work. She could glean in his fields, he smirk at the joke. It was all but settled in his mind, somewhere could be found for her and her son, and he would have her when needed. She would, of course, be suitably grateful; all would fall into place, and be well.

Brother William was seated on the back of the cart. The old friar looked up at the advancing knight and gave him a censorious look. Rob had forgotten his employer, and the friar. He knew the bishop would chide him, but a chaste man himself, he was a cleric who understood that at times a man needed a woman. Did he not rule the stews of Southwark with a fair and liberal hand? But his duty was at an end, a scolding at his licentious behaviour putting the commission at risk would be his only reprimand. Brother William was another matter, he would lecture, and lament of the cursed future such wanton conduct would command. Sir Robert braced himself for reproach.

"Ho there brother, a fair morn is it not?"

"Aye, it was when we prayed for your soul at Lauds." The friar ceased the task of mending his sandal, looked up towards the drying yard. Women laughed as they hung lengths of white linen to dry in the sun.

Rob looked too, Haddie was carrying a heavy basket, washing still steaming from the boil, the child Tom, traipsing after her. She was a fine looking woman, skinny about the arms perhaps, but there was abundant flesh where he needed it. He felt a flush grow in him, and he blushed like a beardless lad.

"Ye may well feel shame my son, now what will become of her? All will know of it, the boy knows of it, God knows of it!" Brother Williams's mouth pinched, but sorrow rounded his eyes. He had prayed for a decent, God fearing life for the woman and her child, now that seemed a forlorn hope.

"She'll come with home with me. I will have need of a nursemaid for my son. She and her boy will be safe, have a home. What more could she need?"

"She needs to repent her mortal sin, accept Christ's grace, and get a lawful husband. _Not_ to live a life as your leman!"

"Brother I shall see her right, never fear." Robert was not prepared to argue the point.

"Have you asked her if it is her wish?" the friar looked at him sternly.

Robert grinned, shook his head, not a little sheepishly. "Nay, but she'll agree. 'Tis a better life I offer them, better than she'd see if the likes of le Pierre finds her."

Even Brother William knew this to be true, though he liked it not. For a woman like mistress Hadwise, the snare of whoredom would always be waiting. He was not blind to the attraction she brought with her; it was a dark song that echoed even in his godly soul. Closing his eyes he offered a plea to the queen of mothers.

"Will you then advise her to take my offer?" Robert asked.

"I may be a man of God, but I know the world does not deal kindly with poor widows. If she freely agrees to this...arrangement," he sighed. "I can but pray for her."

Robert's mood was further lightened. "Well, I want to be on our way afore noon. The king will be in London for only a short while, but a week will get us there in time." He was firm now; things were at last going his way. Of course the woman would agree, how could she not?

Striding toward the rows of billowing sheets, he felt a confidence usually reserved for the strength in his sword arm. "Ho, woman I would speak with you!"

Haddie ignored him, she knew she was 'woman', but it irked her, he knew her name well enough.

Tom stepped away, wary of the stern lord.

"Mistress Hadwise, I do needs speak with you." He was met with a silent stare "You were not so sullen last night, madam."

The snarling tone elicited a small quirked lip, she removed a cloths peg from her mouth. "Last night is gone, today is work. I have no time for your jabber...sir."

Even he knew that this should be handled prudently. "I have an... _arrangement_ to suggest, one beneficial to us both." He gestured to a corner empty of those that might eavesdrop, and stepped that way.

Haddie followed, signed to Tom to stay. "What do you want of me now?"

"Hush woman, no need for all to hear." Rob was not eager for all to know his business. He nudged her ungainly, but not unkindly, against a wall. "I have given some thought to your future...I have a manor, there is a hall, 'tis a moderate place, but I have plans afoot to rebuild, and..."

"Why should that interest me?" She knew his intent, was plain as the nose on his face.

"I would have you come there, live there..." he shrugged as if it were an afterthought, "mayhap work in the dairy."

"A dairymaid, you want me as a dairymaid?"

He drew back, almost offended. "Well, some useful work, if something more to your liking could be found, why then..."

"So you do not want me to warm your bed then, keep your yard occupied of a night?" She was not a woman to use such crude language, but he'd pushed her too far.

"I offer you a good place, a home for you, _and_ the boy. My son will need the overseeing of a motherly woman, and I a..."

"And _you,_ an unpaid whore!"

###

 _Once again the fates decide against my design, how can I seek out the wicked la Pierre, if I am to play 'fair dairymaid' to my lordling's 'bold cowherd'?_

 _Heaven but he tries me so._

 _Can I take Tom upon the road, give him no home, no safety, all for my greed for revenge?_

 _Though what of my greed for the man, for truly he is but a man? I feel it even as he talks close to me, the heat of his breath as he bends to speak soft. I want to pull him to me, kiss those maddening lips._

 _I needs have time to think, to...but I cannot think with him so close._

 _Damn his eyes, does a woman have no choice at all?_


End file.
